Grâce au Malfoys
by romulus lupin
Summary: Inspired by broomstick flyer's "Thanks to the Malfoys" but with a twist. A naked Ron wakes up spooned against a naked Hermione. What happened? Why are the Malfoys ROTFLOL? Some Ron bashing ahead.
1. Chapter 1

**Grâce au Malfoys**

**DISCLAIMER:** Harry Potter and related characters are the property of JK Rowling, various publishing companies, Warner Brothers and whoever else. No monies are being made from this; I'm just indulging in playing in an alternate universe to real life.

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

Dedicated to **AUDRIEL** on and **intylerwetrusted99** on .

First, my deepest gratitude to those who've reviewed my other story ('Seeking Hermione's Bean') on this site. I'm not much for responding to reviews but I am eternally grateful to those who've taken the time to say something about my work.

Second, my deepest apologies for not having updated that story. One last chapter to go but I'm having some difficulties re-writing that particular chapter. *sigh*

In the meantime ... this story's plot bunny reared up from somewhere and bit me on the ... well ...

A bit of a background.

This story was inspired by the wonderful short story "**Thanks to the Malfoys**" by the wonderful writing team **broomstick flyer** on . While I enjoyed their tale, I felt a little bit of disappointment since the story was – to my mind – somewhat of a cliché. Wonderful story, beautifully written but … "formulistic."

The problem was that it let loose a rabid, zealous and somewhat violent plot bunny which wouldn't let me go. So I asked permission from **broomstick flyer** to take their basic idea and run with it, which they graciously consented to.

My eternal gratitude to them … and also, to the Malfoys. (wink, wink)

Without further ado … Grâce au Malfoys. (French for "Thanks to the Malfoys")

**Malfoy Manor (Five Days after the Final Battle)**

It was the sound of giggling – something that had long been missing from Malfoy Manor – that brought young Draco Malfoy out of his contemplative mood. He'd been staring at the plate of bacon and eggs that their remaining house-elf had prepared for him. He just wasn't in the mood right now … too many things had happened in the space of only a few days for his mind and body to return to its normal equilibrium.

How swiftly the sands of time could shift, he'd thought. A little more than seven years before, he'd been on top of the world – well, on top of a tailor's pouf in Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, being fitted for his first set of Hogwarts robes. But he _was_ on top of the world – he was a Malfoy, he was heading for Hogwarts where he would take his place as the rightful Prince of Slytherin, the world was his oyster …

How was he to know that the thin, raggedly dressed boy with the taped together glasses who was also to be fitted for robes would become his and his family's ultimate nemesis? How was he to know that the person he'd sneered at then would take his words to heart and turn away from everything that he - Draco Malfoy - held dear and destroy his perfect little world?

It was the sound of giggling – the refined, musical but seldom-heard giggle of his mother – so different from the insane sniggering of his Aunt Bella – and the never heard before masculine chuckling of his father that broke him from his mood. No, he shook his head - laughter wasn't an unknown thing in Malfoy Manor … it just hadn't been heard for so many months.

Or maybe for at least two years.

He left his seat in the dining room and was walking to the living room when the sound of a 'pop' was heard. For the longest moment he found himself tense and twitching – it took several seconds for his brain to engage and identify the sound as a champagne cork being released and not the sound of someone apparating …

He continued to the living room and came upon a strange sight: his mother and father, arms around each others' waist, champagne glasses held high, dancing.

Dancing?

That was a bit of a stretch, he thought – it would more accurately be called a jig not a 'dance' but still …

The jig abruptly danced when his mother turned around and spotted him in the doorway. It was apparent that they'd been celebrating earlier, to judge from their flushed faces and wide, wide smiles.

"Draco, darling!" His mother's aristocratic voice sang out. "Join us, join us! Pour yourself a glass, darling … your cousin Sirius would be so proud!"

The frown on Draco's face deepened further as his father Lucius chortled – a rather frightening sound, to Draco's ears. He hadn't heard that sound in years … the last time was during his fifth year, he recalled, when his father was at the top of _his_ world, standing at the right side of the Dark Lord …

"Yes," Lucius Malfoy's jubilant voice said. "That mangy cur would be kicking himself right about now for not ever thinking of this. Marauders, my ass!"

A smile broke out on Draco's pointed face – not a nice smile, by any stretch of the imagination, but a smile that – like the chuckles and giggles of his parents – hadn't been in much evidence for quite some time.

"You did it?"

A bark of laughter from Lucius as he glanced at his watch – "The spell should be breaking just about now … I'd love to be a fly on the wall when they wake up and realize what they'd 'done'!"

Narcissa's giggles were approaching the insane cackle of her deceased sister but shifted to outright laughter as Draco replied, "I'd love to see Potty's face when he realizes what's happened!"

*

**The Great Hall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

The crowded great hall of Hogwarts was abuzz with the many voices of the witches and wizards who'd gathered in the evacuation and relief center that the still re-building Ministry of Magic had established in the school. It was a decision easily enough reached by the new Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt with the consent of newly-named Headmistress Minerva McGonagall and her deputy, Filius Flitwick.

It may have been inconvenient but Hogwarts was a central location – the whole magical world knew where it was, since generations of witches and wizards had studied there and it had always stood as a refuge in times of war. No matter the recent use to which the school had been put to, people still naturally gravitated there – the Ministry was still in disarray, both from the battle fought within its many levels and the 'emergency' evacuation of both traitors and non-interfering bureaucrats; Diagon Alley was still in the process of rebuilding as dazed shopkeepers tried to sort through their merchandise and memories; St. Mungo's was, for all intents and purposes, still full to overflowing from those injured or still in recovery from a year of oppression under Voldemort's boots.

But most important – the Chosen One, The Boy Who Lived, He-Who-Finally-Disposed-Of-He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named – was staying there. The word had quickly spread in the hours after the final battle – Harry Potter, triumphant and victorious, was staying in the castle, recovering from the battle. Along with him were his closest companions, Hermione Granger – The-Girl-Who-Destroyed-Mad-Bella – and Ronald Weasley, Best Friend of The Boy Who Lived as well as the his family. If that group alone could not keep out the remnants of evil wandering around, then no place in the world would be safe.

And so they flocked to Hogwarts – to find shelter, get a hot meal, to try and re-establish communications with loved ones or friends – or simply to feel safe once again, after a year of sheer terror and fatigue.

And perhaps, to get a glimpse of the Chosen One … to get the chance to shake his hand and thank him for what he had done … maybe kiss the hem of his robes if he wouldn't mind. And if Harry Potter was not available … his friends would do. It would be something to tell their children and grandchildren in the years ahead – years which many thought they would never have the chance to see.

The great hall was buzzing with conversation – unwittingly, they were all talking about the same thing, as well as giving surreptitious glances at a corner of the hall where a round table sat, surrounded by a veritable sea of red-haired individuals, broken only by an older woman with long black hair who bore a remarkable resemblance to the late, unlamented Bellatrix Lestrange and a slim, younger woman with long, silvery-blonde hair who had more than one pair of male eyes following her every move.

In the center of the group was a young man with messy raven-black hair and a pair of eyeglasses hiding verdant green eyes. He was sitting there silent, poking a fork disinterestedly at a plate piled high with food. One either side was a red-haired woman – the one on his left was an older, somewhat plump witch with fading red hair; the one on his right was younger, with a slight build but with a flowing mane of brilliant red hair. They appeared to be trying to comfort the young man seated between them; if one could listen in on their one-sided conversation, it would be apparent that they were trying to get the young man to eat even as they rubbed his back comfortingly.

The young man in question, however, would have none of it. It was apparent that he was agitated over someone or something as his hands nervously danced around and his head jerked slightly at random intervals. More than once both women – the younger and older one – would place a hand firmly on his shoulder to stop him from getting up.

The buzzing ended abruptly as the loud crack of apparition echoed in the hall – in the blink of an eye, wands were drawn across the hall and pointed at the location of the sound, even as people moved into protective positions at the different tables. The old saw that it was impossible to apparate into and out of Hogwarts had fallen as a result of the final battle – for some reason, the ancient wards surrounding the castle had collapsed (probably to Old Snake-Face's machinations) and it would take some time to power them up again.

The fact of the fallen wards was being kept quiet – still, it didn't hurt to practice constant vigilance especially as no one knew how many Death Eaters, Snatchers or assorted riff-raff were still out there, capable of doing damage or taking revenge … and, if rumours were to be believed, there were actually two of their number now missing from the castle and in fact, had been missing since the previous day.

The rumours had started out just that – unverified reports and whispered tales, until the witches and wizards realized that they had a frantic and panicked Chosen One on their hands … and then they realized that the Chosen One (although constantly surrounded by various people) did not have his constant companions Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley with him ... it was then that the rumours and theories exploded, which wasn't helped in the least by the refusal of those 'in the know' to respond to their questions. Most questions were met by either silence or an impatient shake of the head; the more insistent ones were met by hard and icy glares coming from people who'd fought and – in many cases – killed the minions of the most feared villain they had ever come across, and those asking simply tucked their tails and slinked off.

Hands and bodies relaxed as the people caught a glimpse of the new entrants to the Hall – a young woman with blindingly pink hair, carrying a baby in her arms, and a slim man with graying hair who looked exhausted, black circles around his eyes, shambling along as if he was in pain – which he probably was.

The buzzing in the Great Hall picked up once again, people whispering to their neighbors about the new arrivals. As with any community, gossip travels faster than the speed of light and – in the time it took the two arrivals to approach the table surrounded by redheads, the three had been identified and categorized, with their life histories (or what people 'knew' of their background) passing from lip to lip.

The raven-haired young man had surged to his feet at the sound of apparition but hadn't drawn his wand – not really a major requirement, seeing as everyone around him had already pulled out his or her wand. Doubly unnecessary as the male redheads had taken protective positions in front of and around him and his two female sidekicks, even as the other two females – one black haired and older, the other younger and blonde – had also drawn wands and were in a position to hex or defend.

Wands dropped as the newcomers were recognized and the black haired older woman moved with surprising swiftness to greet them, scooping up the baby into her arms and kissing its rosy cheeks – and rearing back in surprise as the scant hair on the baby's head turned blue. She looked accusingly at the mother, who merely shrugged her shoulders as if to say, "What did you expect?" before turning back to look at the hopeful eyes of the black haired wizard who was standing, tense, waiting for news.

Nymphadora Tonks sighed and lowered her head in seeming shame; her husband Remus Lupin dropped into a chair held out by Bill Weasley and gave another sigh – like his wife, his very countenance signaled defeat as he spoke in a low voice: "No word, Harry … Kingsley's got his Aurors out asking questions, but no one has seen hide nor hair of them."

Harry Potter slumped back in his seat even as the women on either side of him tried to comfort him – rubbing his back and arms, whispering consoling words … the younger female redhead grabbed a mug of tea off the table and tried to hand it to him but he waved it off, uninterested.

"Look at it this way, kiddo," Tonks said in a tired yet professional voice. "No news is good news – while we don't know anything, there is always hope."

The green-eyed gaze that was directed at her made her shiver, wondering if it was the sight of those Avada-green eyes that was the last thing that a mortal Voldemort ever saw before he moved off this plane of existence. She'd been out of it when Harry finished the lipless bastard off – for some reason no one will ever know, Bellatrix Lestrange had apparently changed the Killing Curse that she'd directed at Tonks into something else.

Tonks had fallen unconscious to the curse; unknowingly, her fall had distracted Remus enough for Dolohov to launch his favorite purple-flamed curse at him – but Remus' distraction and quick move to try and get to her saved him from the brunt of the Organ-Bursting Hex … he'd been clipped by the edge of the full-powered curse, enough to break some ribs and his upper arm but it had been enough … Dolohov's focus on him distracted the Death Eater enough that he didn't see the Reducto sent at him by Filius Flitwick – his curse had been perfect aligned with the Death Eater's head, turning it into a fine spray of paint even as Mad Bella was taken down by a much madder Hermione Granger …

Courageous DA members had reached the fallen husband and wife and used portkeys to transport them to St. Mungo's where emergency healers were able to resuscitate them …

These thoughts flashed through Tonks' mind in mere seconds – and she shook her head as she felt her husband's hand on her arm, forcing him to look away from Harry's chilling green eyes. The older wizard spoke softly, "She's right, Harry … as long as we haven't heard anything, there's still hope."

Harry Potter took a deep shuddering breath before he spoke, just as softly but with the pain and worry clear in his words: "I _know_ that, Remus! But I can't help it … sh-_they_ may be somewhere hurt, bleeding to death … being tortured for all I know! Sh-She's already been hurt enough …she's still hurting, Remus …"

"I know, cub, I know…" Remus' comforting words were matched by the older and younger red headed woman on each side, again trying to sooth him with comforting words. The younger woman spoke up, "Maybe they just eloped –"

The words were cut off as Avada-green eyes turned on her and Ginny Weasley gulped even as she felt herself moving back in self-defense. The wizards and witches around them tensed and felt a shiver down their spines as Harry said, "Sh-_They_ wouldn't do that, Ginny … they wouldn't just up and run off without telling me … something's happened … I just know it…"

Only a few of the people in the immediate vicinity noted the sudden emphasis and slightly raised voice on the word 'They' – those who did notice knew an attempt at a cover-up or distraction when they heard one; of these, even fewer still knew the thought running in Harry's mind – 'Hermione wouldn't run and leave me but Ron might.' Bill and Fleur, in particular, since Ron had been hiding out in Shell Cottage for several weeks before finding his balls wherever he'd stashed them and went back out to look for his friends … Fleur also knew about Ron's desertion of Harry in the early part of the Tri-Wizard since she had been staying at Hogwarts at the time…

"Now, Harry, no need to worry so much … they're adults now … maybe they just wanted to, you know, get away for a bit…" It was Molly Weasley's turn to try and mollify the shaking wizard. She grabbed a mug and tried again to hand it to him, "Have some tea, dear, that's a good lad…"

"Harry…" Fleur Delacour-Weasley's throaty voice diverted Harry and he dropped the hand which had automatically reached for the mug in the Weasley matriarch's hand. Fleur caught the momentary flash of irritation in Mrs. Weasley's eyes and her half-Veela senses started screaming … there had been a twinkle in the matriarch's brown eyes a moment before that would have rivaled Dumbledore's infamous eye twinkles at their best … a glimmer of victory …

Fleur's thoughts – and everyone else's attention – was sidetracked by the sound of dozens of flapping wings in the Hall. Everyone looked up at the enchanted ceiling – one of the few still active enchantments in the ancient magical castle – and saw dozens of owls descending towards them, each one clutching familiar rolled-up bundles in their claws …

The Daily Prophet had arrived.

*

**The Shrieking Shack, That Same Moment**

Ronald Weasley's brain slowly woke up with his skin attuned to a most wonderful sensation – he was lying on his side in a warm, soft bed, spooned against someone soft and giving off a faintly woodsy but sweet aroma. His 'morning woody' was up and seemingly just as aware of where it was as he was: poking and probing at something warm and slightly wet 'down there'.

The next thing to reach his brain was the sensation of something soft and pointy poking at the palm of his left hand, his fingers were slowly stroking soft skin and he allowed himself to revel in the sensation even as his hips started pumping slowly, his woody aiming to find a nice, warm place to nest in ...

It was a beautiful dream, his mind relayed to his brain – only for another voice to pipe up, it _is_ a wonderful dream ... one that he richly deserved. He was, after all, one of the heroes of Hogwarts ... the boon companion of the Chosen One. He had been the one to destroy the accursed locket that contained a piece of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's soul, found a way to break into the Chamber of Secrets and destroy another Horcrux ... defeated Fenrir Greyback ... and gotten a kiss from the girl of his dreams just before the main battle ...

A part of his mind wondered at that – there was nothing more trite or cliché than receiving a kiss on the eve of the battle, but another part of his mind shoved that thought away ... it was what he _deserved_ after all ...

His mind wandered back to the past few days – it was everything he had ever dreamed of: fame, recognition, _legend_. Feeling the adoring eyes of wizarding Britain on him, he never really felt the burden of losing friends – his family, after all, had all survived ... they'd thought they lost Fred only to realize after the battle that he'd successfully shielded himself from the debris but got knocked out. It was a wonderful sensation, that adulation and awe – something that he'd first felt in Third Year when he was attacked by Sirius Black ... something felt only a few times in his life ...

Even the hard work of clearing up debris from the pitched battles in Hogwarts couldn't faze him ... it was only by pure coincidence that he'd found himself working near the kitchens every day near mealtimes ...

An errant thought struck him and he forced his eyes to open a crack – and then heaved a sigh of relief at the sight that greeted him: long, curly brown hair streaked with blonde highlights ... hair that he once called 'bushy' but could now call 'silky' ... and he closed his eyes in ecstasy even as his lower body took over and began to again start pumping more insistently, still seeking to find its warm, dark nest ...

It was – or _is_ – a beautiful, warm, wonderful dream ...

Which exploded into a world of pain as a small, round elbow slammed into his side – he jerked up in open-mouthed shock, his now wide eyes and open mouth in a silent scream as his head swivelled around to find the source of that pain ...

Only for his brain and body to shut down in surprise at a sight that had so often populated the wettest of his dreams – a totally naked Hermione Granger was standing in front of him, hands on hips and legs spread apart - his brain went into overdrive as it greedily captured a series of images that will undoubtedly power more liquid reveries in the coming nights – the small bush of brown hair at the apex of long, slim limbs with just a hint of pink showing in between the spread-apart legs ... the delicious curves of her stomach, shiny skin surrounding a delectable belly button ... a pair of small but round breasts with pointy, light brown nipples, the same nipples that he'd been ministering to so lovingly only seconds before ...

And the face, that beautiful, lovely face that was straight out of a nightmare.

He felt his brain whimpering in fear as his eyes felt impaled by the blazing brown of Hermione's eyes – for a brief, brief moment he wondered if he'd really seen flashes of lightning erupting from those eyes ... in the next second, he realized that his hands had covered his ears in instinctive self-defence as the finely-shaped lips that he'd fantasized so many times wrapping around his wand was constantly opening and closing ...

His brain finally caught up and he realized that even with his hands covering his ears, he could still HEAR her, the loud, powerful screech that was as painful as nails on a blackboard – "RONALD BILIUS WEASLEY! WHAT THE _FUCK_ DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?"

A tiny, tiny part of his brain blubbered at the sound of _that _word coming from Hermione 'Watch Your Language' Granger – and it was that tiny part of his brain that kicked into gear and jump-started the rest of his body into action ...

Hermione had turned away from him, her rage at the situation blinding her to the fact that she was alone in a strange room with a boy, both of them stark naked without a single stitch between them. Her eyes focused on something red beneath the bed and she grabbed it in anger, totally ignoring Ron who had climbed up on the bed with one hand reaching out for her. She turned to him, her rage still palpable and, unknowingly, the red panties in her hand brushed along his outstretched hand and that was more than enough –

The two teens felt the all too familiar tug behind their navel that signified a portkey had activated and Ron found himself in distress since only one hand was available to cover an ear while the other ear was treated to an extended version of Hermione screaming ...

*

**The Three Broomsticks Pub, Dining Room**

Madam Rosmerta heard a faint thud overhead and found herself grinning. 'Newly weds,' she thought to herself, adn continued wiping down the bar.

She'd been pleasantly surprised the day before when Ron Weasley and his long-time friend Hermione Granger showed up and reserved the honeymoon suite before disappearing for a few hours – only to return, giggling and laughing. She'd nearly dropped the tray of butterbeers she was carrying when she saw them and realized the cause for the giggling and laughter – Ron had one arm around Hermione's waist while Hermione's hand was obviously under Ron's robes, playing with something other than his wand. 'Probably his wang,' she thought lasciviously and shook herself from her thoughts.

She'd grinned and given the amorous couple a thumbs up as they went up the stairs and winked slyly as Ron mimed putting a finger to his lips. 'Probably eloped rather than have a major production of a wedding,' she thought to herself – and frowned. Ron had pulled a money bag from under his robes when paying for the room yesterday – and he'd carelessly thrown several galleons at her when she quoted a price.

She'd known several generations of Weasleys – and the only time they were _that_ free and easy with their money was when they were out of Hogwarts and working. Even then, they'd politely counted out the galleons owed her – not thrown them on the bar top carelessly ...

She shook herself from her thoughts as another idea struck her – 'where was Harry Potter?' She'd watched the three friends' interaction ever since their fourth year when Harry was finally allowed to go on Hogsmeade visits ... and while the three seemed inseparable, she always had a sense that Harry Potter and Hermione Granger were moving and communicating on a level beyond words.

For Harry not to be there for the wedding – even if it was an elopement, she expected that Harry would have stood by his best friends as a witness at least ... Rosmerta shrugged as she realized that the chandelier overhead was swaying in slow circles and she laughed outright. 'At least he's energetic enough ... hope I left enough food in the icebox for them. They're gonna need it.'

*

**The Three Broomsticks (Honeymoon Suite)**

Hermione's scream was abruptly cut off as the portkey landed them in a tangle of arms and legs on a king-sized waterbed in the middle of a large, frilly room. Ron's arms had instinctively gone around Hermione in a protective gesture – a move which was not appreciated by Hermione who had placed her hands on Ron's chest and given him a powerful shove away from her.

It was only the hugeness of the bed that prevented Ron from falling off the edge – as it was, both teens were now flat on their backs and staring up in mouth-agape shock at a large, flashing banner above their heads: 'CONGRATULATIONS AND WELCOME MR. RONALD AND MRS. HERMIONE WEASLEY.'

Hermione had drawn in a breath to start screaming but was quickly shut down as a bell started ringing on Hermione's side of the bed. Looking over there, they realized that an alarm charm was activated, drawing attention to a small bundle of what appeared to be pictures and various official-looking documents in both heavy muggle paper and wizarding parchment.

Frowning, Hermione rolled off the huge waterbed and stalked over to the dresser with the papers and pictures on it, totally oblivious to the fact that she was still not wearing a stitch of clothing – even the underwear that was a portkey was forgotten on the bed.

Ron, on the other hand, had rolled to his side and felt his heart stopping at the sight before him – Hermione standing tall, her back to him and showing off the most perfect derrière he had ever seen in his young life, outside of the Playwizard and muggle skin magazines Seamus and Dean had brought to the dorm. He was quickly lost in a haze of steamy images featuring his present self sinking his fingers into that delicious bottom even as he nibbled lightly on the fleshy lobes at the apex of Hermione's smooth thighs ...

And once again the dream exploded into a red haze of pain as something heavy landed on his head.

His loud 'OW!' of protest was totally ignored by the other occupant of the room who was staring in shocked silence at the pictures she'd spread out on the dresser. Rubbing his head, he looked at the thing that had bopped him on his noggin and vaguely realized that an owl was winging its way out of the room. Rubbing his sore head, Ron picked up the rolled up bundle and realized it was the Daily Prophet – unthinkingly and automatically, he opened it and felt his eyes bugging out as his jaw dropped in shock at the images and words on the front page ...

*

**Malfoy Manor ...**

Malfoy Manor was playing host to a sight that had never been seen in over a decade – three blonde, blue-eyed people rolling on the floor, laughing out loud. What made the sight totally incongruous was that all three were kicking up their heels as they roared in laughter ... either that or pounding on the floor with their fists or shifting into a ball as they held their stomachs after a fresh round of laughter ...

In the middle of the room lay a copy of the Daily Prophet with its screaming headline – "FIRST WEDDING AFTER VICTORY!"

And underneath, in full colour and glorious action – Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley exchanging open-mouth tongue kisses in front of an apparently Muggle clergyman looking up at the ceiling of a decidedly muggle office, arms around each other with hands apparently exploring somewhere out of view.

*

**The Three Broomsticks (Honeymoon Suite)**

For a long, long moment, Ronald Bilius Weasley's mind went blank as his eyes contemplated the moving picture in his lap. The first real emotion that broke through the blank slate that was his mind was elation – how this happened, how it happened, he didn't care ... this was his dream fulfilled ... this was his reward granted by a forgiving universe ...

How it happened, he didn't know and, in truth, he didn't really care. That he had no memory or recollection of the blessed event was of no consequence – the proof was in the pudding after all and the event was there in front of his eyes. How they'd moved from the quiet of their shared dorm to wherever the wedding took place was no concern of his ... all that he cared about now was that he and Hermione were married in the eyes of law and magic – and a small, carefully hidden part of his mind was jumping around in a dance of joy: FINALLY! He had something that Harry Bloody Potter didn't have ... he'd achieved something that Harry could never lay a claim to.

His contemplation of the picture was interrupted as a shadow fell across the page – he looked up and found himself mesmerized once more at the perfect picture standing in front of him – a still naked Hermione, artfully backlit by the sunlight coming in from the curtained window, legs spread apart, hands on hips ...

It took several seconds for his besotted brain to sort through the myriad stimuli clamouring for his attention – but finally, the alarm bells of his well-honed survival instincts broke through the foggy, hazy range of his mind.

Fact – Hermione's skin was flushed from hairline to toes, giving her skin an iridescent glow with a colour that would have made any Weasley proud ...

Fact – Hermione's curly brown hair was blowing in a breeze that he couldn't feel. His skin registered the fact that the room was chilly - unpleasantly cold in a way that he had always associated with the presence of dementors ...

Fact – his eyes may be deceiving him but he could swear that there were tiny fairies dancing around Hermione – but his brain kicked in and told him that those were not fairies but – gulp! – sparks flying around Hermione ...

Fact – Hermione's mouth was moving but no words could be heard. It took him a moment to realize that it wasn't that Hermione was silenced or that his abused ears couldn't hear anything ... it was simply that Hermione was speaking in a soft, low voice that was barely above a whisper.

This last fact fully engaged his brain and his hearing ratcheted to high gear in time to hear her: "Ronald Bilius Weasley ... what the hell is going on?"

His brain parsed that statement fully and his earlier euphoria flooded all over his mind and body – and he felt a goofy grin break out on his face even as his brain went on vacation in the steamy reverie of his living daydream. With a wide, broad smile, he held up the Daily Prophet with its revealing photo and said, "We're married?"

His eyes wandered down that magnificent body, taking note of the smooth legs ('does she shave her legs?' he wondered) and the slim ankles before travelling to the newspaper to contemplate once again the moving picture – and almost missed the sibilant voice hissing, "And how can we be married, Ronald Weasley?"

His head moved up from its study of the picture in his lap and found himself in a staring contest with Hermione's chest – eyes locked on the light brown nipples that were pointed straight at him, engorged into tight points from the frigid air (not that he realized it) and he mumbled, "Who knows? Who cares? We're married and that's that."

In the space of a nanosecond, Ron Weasley found himself hanging in mid-air, steel-clawed fingers wrapped around his throat, lifting him up from the bed as his ears were assaulted by a scream to rival Hermione's earlier outburst: "YOU DON'T KNOW? YOU DON'T CARE? WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO TO ME, RONALD WEASLEY!"

Before he could even squeak in protest, he felt himself flying backward – thrown there by a powerful burst of magic from the enraged witch. He felt himself slamming into the wall – and blinked as he realized that the walls had built-in cushioning and silencing charms. His brain, however, refused to consider that piece of information as his eyes finally locked on Hermione's face and he felt fear: true, gut-wrenching, lose-your-bowels fear clutching at his guts.

There was no denying the beauty of Hermione's face but it was a fierce, feral beauty. There was no sign of the focused, intent, and determined look that had been there when she took down Bellatrix Lestrange and cut down almost a dozen Death Eaters who were trying to get to Harry ...

There was nothing but pure, ethereal, fiery rage in that beautiful face – and Ron's survival instinct finally kicked into high gear. Synapses fired, nerve endings jumped – rational thought disappeared as primal urges took over. There was no need to go through the steps – no voice in his mind proclaiming, "Determination. Destination. Deliberation."

His brain simply took over and he felt the sensation of being squeezed through a small, small tube even as his eyes registered Hermione's small fist heading towards his face ...

With a loud crack, Ronald Weasley successfully apparated away from an enraged Hermione Granger ...

There was only one conscious thought screaming in his mind – a single thought that spoke of comfort, of safety, of protection, of home:

"MUUUMMMMMMMYYYY!!!!!"


	2. Chapter 2

Standard Disclaimer: The usual disclaimers: the story is based on characters and situations created by JK Rowling, copyright owned by JKR, Bloomsbury, Scholastic Press, Warner Bros., etc. No money is being made from this tale, yadda yadda yadda ...

**Grâce au Malfoys – Part 2**

**At the End of Part 1:**

_With a loud crack, Ronald Weasley successfully apparated away from an enraged Hermione Granger ... _

_There was only one conscious thought screaming in his mind - a single thought that spoke of comfort, of safety, of protection, of home: _

"_MUUUMMMMMMMYYYY!!!!!"_

_***_

**The Great Hall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

The buzz of conversation in the Great Hall had died down considerably as witches and wizards, either individually or in the company of friends or family, left the hall to go about their business for the day. Most would have wanted to stay and gossip – after all, the marriage of two of the main heroes of the recently-ended conflict was something worthy of dissection; at the same time, the rumours of the disappearance of those two from Hogwarts (apparently due to a planned elopement rather than foul play) only added spice to the tale. Plus, there was also the intriguing element of The-Boy-Who-Lived's actuations of the day before to consider – and many were the surreptitious glances cast at the corner table where Harry Potter and his group of friends were seated, the latter clustered protectively around a very distraught Harry.

The sudden crack of apparition again had most of the people in the Great Hall on their feet, wands glowing with unreleased spellfire as eyes tracked the Hall for the source of the sound – a few feet to the side of 'Harry's Corner' (as the wags had dubbed that particular table) and right in front of the Hufflepuff table.

The sight of a tall, pasty-white, red haired _naked _person caught a second year female Hufflepuff by surprise and she let loose a panicked squeak / shout – "EXPELLIARMUS!" causing the frightening vision to dive for the floor.

That was all it took – a split second after the first syllable of the hex was shouted, wands all over the hall went off and, with loud shots and silent incantations, spellfire lit up the great hall – Expelliarmus, Stupefy, Reducto, Petrificus Totalis, Confundo, Stinging Hexes, Impedimentas and more were cast –

Shields shimmered as spells hit – some, cast by members of the DA, were strong enough to reflect the hexes and curses back, causing casters to either throw up their own shields or dive out of the way only to come up firing ... other curses and hexes hit the walls of the Great Hall which either absorbed the spells or threw them back ... one spell – possibly Sectumsempra – sliced a suit of armour in half, forcing a cursing Peeves the Poltergeist into the open which in turn caused several spells to be cast at him as he escaped out the open doors of the hall ...

As the spells flew, little Professor Flitwick hopped up on the teacher's table and cast a Sonorus on himself before bellowing "STOP!"

Before he could even blink, almost two dozen spells were headed in his direction – and the old duelling master _moved_. In an action that reminded the muggleborns in the hall of a much loved Jedi master, Filius Flitwick leaped high into the air, tucked himself into a ball and somersaulted behind a standing Hagrid. The latter had just arrived at the hall and was close to the Slytherin table when the firefight erupted – rather than draw a non-existent wand, he took the simple expedient of lifting the table and using it as a shield which protected those closest to him and also kept them from joining the fray...

Flitwick rolled to his feet beside Hagrid; the latter lifted a bushy eyebrow at him and said, "Tha's telling 'em, ace!" to which the diminutive professor responded with a raised middle finger.

Surprisingly, it was the Fat Friar's roar that caused the combatants to drop their wands: "CEASE FIRE!" Again, dozens of spells lanced at him but the Hufflepuff ghost didn't even flinch – why should he, after all? – but the action turned him nearly opalescent in fury and he repeated his yell: "CEASE FIRE, I SAY!"

Wands dropped all over the hall in shock at the rage in the well-loved roly-poly ghost with his jolly manner and merry smile – and faces were soon flushing from shame as his amplified voice washed over them: "I am ASHAMED of you! The war is OVER ... many of you are here because of the school's hospitality and you repay it by trying to destroy the school!"

Into the sudden silence, newly-promoted Senior Auror Nymphadora Tonks stood up from behind their overturned table, handed a curious Teddy to her husband, and started barking orders: "DA! Check for casualties ... someone call in Pomfrey ... EVERYONE ELSE PUT AWAY YOUR WANDS!"

From one corner of the Gryffindor table, a small, frightened voice – probably deafened from the chaos – asked, "Did she say put away your wangs? OW!" as his mother or sister smacked his head.

Many in the hall couldn't help snickering – but all quickly fell silent as an angry Auror Tonks, her flowing mane of hair turned a fiery red that the Weasleys would have envied, stalked like a hungry tiger towards the naked, pasty-skinned, flat on the floor person whose unannounced arrival had started the pandemonium.

The visibly livid Tonks grabbed the intruder by the scruff of the neck and lifted him up, confirming her thoughts as the pale, freckled, wide-eyed, shell-shocked face of Ronald Weasley scanned his surroundings, opened his mouth and whimpered, "Mummy?"

That single word broke a surprised and shaken Molly Weasley out of her trance – with a loud wail of "Ronald!" she was charging towards her son with arms spread wide ... only to stop as the image in front of her registered and the wail turned into a screech – "WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR CLOTHES?"

Before the wayward wizard could respond, a flabbergasted Hagrid inquired loudly, "Where's 'ermione?"

To be immediately followed by an agitated Ginny Weasley's shriek: "WHERE'S HARRY?"

In the sudden silence of unanswerable for the moment questions, Fleur Delacour-Weasley's throaty voice sounded loud and clear. In a statement obviously meant for her husband alone but amplified in the silence of the hall, she looked at her youngest brother-in-law's naked form: "I always sed he wuz a _leetle_ boy."

***

**Malfoy Manor**

The Malfoy family had composed themselves and were now lounging around their living room, champagne glasses filled from a second bottle that had been opened. An occasional snigger could be heard however as they looked at each other – more so whenever Lucius and Narcissa glanced at the other.

Lucius Malfoy raised his glass in a toast to his son. "I must admit, Draco, that your idea was utterly marvellous ... your grandfather would have been proud."

The younger Malfoy preened at the praise although he'd been well-trained not to let the occasional commendation from his oft-hard to please father get to his head. He raised his own glass in a toast to his father, who was sitting in his favourite armchair, Narcissa perched on the arm of the chair. "Thank you, father, but the honour should go to you – using polyjuice to impersonate Granger and the Weasel was a stroke of pure genius!"

Lucius Malfoy was just as well schooled in the art of flattery as he toasted his wife. "Ah ... but finding that forgery spell in the Malfoy Family Grimoire takes the cake, my dear. This whole charade would not have been successful if we were unable to sign those documents ... You deserve the applause and a bow."

She bent down and gave her husband a lingering kiss and 'accidentally' fell into his lap; without a second thought, she proceeded to grind her bottom on him in an impromptu lap dance, causing her son to look away. "Do you mind?" Draco asked. "There are children here!"

The two adults roared in laughter, almost spilling their champagne on each other, but Narcissa didn't move from her husband's lap. Another lascivious grind caused Lucius' smirk to grow wider and she turned serious.

"I am so _glad_ that this is all over, my love. I actually pity the mudblood being bonded to the blood traitor."

Draco's eyebrow rose almost to his hairline – his mother, the pureblood princess, actually _pitying_ the mudblood? His other eyebrow rose to meet its counterpart at his hairline as he realized that his father was nodding in seeming agreement with his mother.

One glance at her clueless son and Narcissa Malfoy snickered and asked a seeming _non sequitur_: "You've sometimes called the blood traitors 'carrot heads,' haven't you?"

When Draco nodded, she continued, "I wanted to give the photographer and that muggle minister a real show so I ... had my hands under your father's robes."

Lucius Malfoy's bark of laughter distracted the fleeting look of disgust on the younger Malfoy's face at the image created in his mind. Draco quickly schooled his face into seeming obliviousness as his mother continued, "Let's just say ... a _baby_ carrot would be more substantial than Ronald Weasley's 'assets'."

It took several moments for Draco to parse the statement – a look of pure disgust, followed by a moaned "Ewwww!" pushed the elder Malfoys into another round of hysterical laughter which led to them falling to the floor and rolling around holding their stomachs.

Draco's pinched face – so reminiscent of his mother's during the Quidditch World Cup in his fourth year– eventually morphed into an evil smirk so much like his father's as he said, "I wonder what Granger will think when she finds out."

***

**The Three Broomsticks (Honeymoon Suite)**

Hermione's small fist slammed into the wall of the honeymoon suite and she stood there in shock, wondering – first of all – why her fist hadn't broken when it slammed against unyielding concrete; second, wondering where in _hell_ Ronald Weasley had gone to; and finally, realizing, with a sense of wonder, that the immediate object of her insurmountable rage had disappeared.

There was nothing to vent her pain, anger and humiliation on.

Dazed, she looked around the large suite, absently noting the huge waterbed with its slightly mussed sheets with the Daily Prophet still laying on top of it, the lurid headline and insufferable photo face up and mocking her. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimmer of movement – turning swiftly, she realized that she was looking straight at a large mirror, strategically positioned to reflect whatever activities took place on the bed – and she gaped as she realized that she'd been moving around for how long – had even been portkeyed from one location to another – without a stitch of clothing on.

There was nothing left for her to do – she stood in the middle of the room, feet apart, arms spread with hands fisted on either side … threw back her head and SCREAMED.

***

**The Three Broomsticks (Dining Room)**

Madam Rosmerta blinked as she realized that the chandelier in the middle of her pub's dining room was swaying. 'Goodness,' she thought. 'They must be using a lot of energy up there' – and she gave quiet thanks to whatever had inspired her to have the honeymoon suite built with heavy-duty silencing and cushioning charms. The release of energies when a magical couple consummated their marriage was the stuff of legends – while she herself never experienced it, the mere risk that a powerful couple coupling may destroy her pub had pushed her to spend the extra galleons in warding the room.

It was money well spent, she thought now, as she watched the swaying chandelier. Ron and Hermione … she shook herself from the thought. There had been little doubt in her mind that Hermione was one powerful witch – the few times she'd been able to serve her during Hogsmeade visits, Rosmerta would have sworn she saw the young lady's aura flicker on and off …

'Merlin's beard,' she thought to herself. 'I wonder what would happen if _Harry Potter_ completes his bonding? I hope he doesn't decide to have his honeymoon here … else I may not have a pub left!'

A second's thought and she dismissed the idea. Knowing the way boys' minds worked (she had, after all, been the pub's landlady for years beyond count), she knew that Harry Potter would never spend a honeymoon here, where his best friends consummated their bond. Especially if the young lad had feelings for the girl…

The chimes of the door opening signalled the arrival of a customer and she dismissed her thoughts to welcome the start of another day at the pub ...

***

**The Three Broomsticks (Honeymoon Suite)**

The primal scream that Hermione let loose was both cleansing and calming. Head back, taking deep breaths, she opened her eyes slowly ... hoping that it had been nothing more than a bad dream – and saw the floating banner above the bed with its obnoxious, loathsome proclamation: "WELCOME AND CONGRATULATIONS MR. RONALD AND MRS. HERMIONE WEASLEY!"

It felt like a mallet had slammed into her gut – it was true, everything that had been happening since she woke up was true – and she fell on her knees as her stomach roiled, threatening to bring everything in it rushing out her throat. It was only pure luck that there was nothing there to expel but the sensation of wanting to throw up continued as her overloaded brain whirled...

Knowledge gained when she haunted the library in an effort to help Hagrid with Buckbeak's trial crowded her mind ... magical law, wizarding traditions, obscure facts and figures clamoured for attention as she rolled into a foetal ball –

"_A magical marriage is for life – there is no divorce in the wizarding world ... The death of one spouse is the only way to break the enchantments of a magical bonding ... The use of Polyjuice potion is virtually undetectable, except when the potion expires thus revealing the impersonator ... Marriages between magical people in the muggle world are automatically recorded in the Magical Registrar of Births, Weddings and Deaths ... a copy of the marriage license is sent via magical means to the couple ..."_

There was nothing she could do.

Married.

Married to Ronald Bilius Weasley.

She shuddered at the thought.

He was the polar opposite to her in everything that mattered – lazy where she was energetic, lacking in ambition and willing to go with the flow where she was driven and willing to challenge destiny, an academic sloth where she wanted to soar with the eagles. An intellectually stimulating time for her was discussing esoteric magical theory – for Ron, it was a game of chess. Something that required intelligence, yes – but what kind of conversation can be made in discussing something limited to a two-dimensional board with sixty-four squares?

She would _die_ in such a limiting environment ... and she felt another spasm in her guts as she imagined herself married to Ron: frumpy, plump and domesticated, home-schooling two children unimaginatively named Rose and Hugo until they were ready to go to Hogwarts ... her Outstanding in OWL and NEWT Potions used to brew and prepare home remedies ... her top marks in Arithmancy and Ancient Runes useless because she didn't need them to catch and dispatch the garden gnomes ... her eleven OWLS and as many NEWTS nothing more than wall decorations for her room while she mourned the loss of opportunities ...

It was a life well-suited for others but it was not for her.

It was a major reason behind the yawning chasm between her and many of the girls in the Gryffindor female dormitories – a gulf quickly evident within weeks of starting at Hogwarts. They simply had different priorities from her – Lavender and Parvati, for example, would have been more than happy with that sort of life, a fact that she recognized as the years passed and they studied earnestly in Divination, did the best they could in Transfiguration, Charms and Potions and spent more time giggling and squealing than should be good for them.

True, they were charter members of the DA but then, they were Gryffindors, weren't they? Plus, it was their OWL year and they needed the training in DADA – only for everything to fall by the wayside in sixth year. They didn't respond to the call when the castle was attacked and Dumbledore killed ... she was surprised to see them during the final battle but they were Gryffindors, weren't they?

The bottom line was, she could easily picture them as domesticated housewives, sitting and cooking in the kitchen while waiting for Won-Won to come home, taking care of the children, reading Witch Weekly while recalling 'the glory days' at Hogwarts with Harry and Ron ...

It wasn't the life she envisioned for herself.

Especially not with Ronald Bilius Weasley.

_That_ had never been part of her equations or plans. She, like so many others, had her dreams of romance – but that had always been set aside because of the quest she had inadvertently joined when she was befriended by a thin, bespectacled boy who'd saved her from a troll. _That _had become the single driving obsession of her life, broken only by momentary flashes of a different life in fourth year with Krum and the Yule Ball – and sixth year when she oscillated between overprotective of Harry and acting all Shakespearean – not as Hermione from 'A Winter's Tale' but as Katherina in 'Taming of the Shrew.'

Even now, that school year stood out as a confusing one – she could never understand why she went all hormonal, alternating between overprotective and shrill with Harry, veering between pride at his accomplishments and angry over that infernal potions book and, deep down where only she could admit it, extremely depressed as she realized that she would never be more than a friend to him. In the end, it was all she was left with – finishing the quest to defeat Voldemort.

She had given up her dreams of romance in sixth year; despite what everyone thought, romance and Ronald Weasley were mutually exclusive – and Harry was both unattainable and with Ginny. She had resigned herself to a lonely life after the mission was accomplished. She'd go and bring back her parents – or perhaps opt to stay in Australia rather than come back here and watch Harry walk down the aisle with someone else…

While the memory of that singular, magical moment when all pretences were torn away, when hard truths and painful memories were exposed and exorcised and magic, _real_ magic bloomed would be all that was left to sustain her.

Another spasm hit her and she heaved – dry heaves as the implications of what had happened once again struck her turbulent mind ... she whimpered with the aches of something much worse than the Cruciatus she underwent at Malfoy Manor ... and unknowingly sobbed out the mantra that had helped her through the pain: "Harry ... help me ... I need you, Harry ..."

She never saw or felt a tiny portion of her magic leaving her body ... forming into an iridescent mist that acquired a shimmering, ghostly form of a sleek animal on four legs. It sniffed at the air around briefly, as if hunting for a specific scent before shooting out of the room in a silvery blur, swiftly gaining speed as it ran for the castle in the distance ...

***

**Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

For the longest time, Harry Potter stood in the middle of the Headmaster's office, gaping at the once-familiar yet now-unfamiliar place where he had spent more time in than almost any other student in modern times, except for the legendary Marauders. He shook his head slowly, trying to shake off the dizziness and disorientation that often accompanied apparition ... and wondered, as his brain finally caught up with him, how – or even _why_ – he found himself in this particular place at this particular time.

_Why_ he was here ... his mind brought back the events of only minutes before – and he shut his eyes and gritted his teeth against the ache in his heart at seeing the picture of his best friends exchanging passionate kisses in the Daily Prophet. It was a pain even worse than any which Voldemort inflicted on him, worse even than when he'd been possessed by the Dark Lord...

He was about to crumple the newspaper up and burn it when the crack of apparition sounded in the Great Hall – it had taken only that split second as the body solidified for him to recognize who it was ... seven years of sharing a common shower and toilet makes it easy to recognize people from the back, especially if they were lanky and had red hair...

Seeing the back of a naked Ron Weasley unleashed a tidal wave of emotion – there was _no way_ that he would be willing to stand there, smiling and congratulating Ron for marrying Hermione ... not after Ron had abandoned them to their fate for the second time only to come slinking back like the rat that he'd once kept as a pet ... not after having to watch Ron struggle with the horcrux and its maddened attempt to survive by trying to turn his 'friend' against him once again, forcing him to lie through his teeth about his feelings for Hermione – pushing him, once again, to forego his own wishes and desires to keep the peace between his friends, to keep the mythical 'Trio' intact, to once again sacrifice something he held dear for a still-nebulous 'Greater Good'...

In that singular moment before the spells started flying, he knew he could not stay in the same place as Ronald Bilius Weasley – and without spell or incantation, without destination, deliberation or determination but simple, pure _intent_ to be out of there – he felt the squeezed through a small tube sensation enveloping him and he opened his eyes to find himself here in the Headmaster's office.

He shrugged at what happened. He'd been experiencing bouts of accidental magic lately – wild, unfocused, untamed and powerful – all in the hours after the final battle. Or maybe it was _during_ the final battle ... it was a prickling sensation along his skin which he first noticed when he 'woke up' after Voldemort cast the Killing Curse at him ... he supposed it was his magic adapting after being freed from the leech that was the Horcrux within him...

He realized that he was still clutching the Daily Prophet and threw it away from him with a snarl, hitting one of the Headmaster's portraits around him and he cringed, waiting for the lambasting that was to follow and hoping like hell that it was neither the portrait of Dumbledore or Phineas Nigellus Black ...

He looked around sheepishly and blinked – all the portraits of past headmasters were empty, except for that of Severus Snape, who'd been Headmaster in the year under Voldemort. Snape was asleep, however, and he sighed in relief ... the portrait hadn't woken up yet and he was glad. He wasn't ready for a conversation with Snape just yet ... maybe not for a couple of years or decades...

Shaking his head, he collapsed on the floor, hands covering his face as the adrenalin rush of moments before dissipated and his tired mind tried to find the energy or even the will to move on…

Unbidden, his mind brought back that loathsome picture in the Daily Prophet and he bent over in pain ... after everything that he'd gone through, after all the aches and misery that Fate, Destiny or Sybil Trelawney had set in his path ... was it too much to ask for a break? Was it too much to wish for a moment of normalcy ... to be a young man in love with a pretty girl – one he was sure loved him back?

But why would she do this to him? Why go behind his back and elope with Ron? If she didn't feel that way about him, she could have talked with him ... told him the truth and walked out of his life. They'd gone through too much together for either to lie to the other ... they'd shared too much (and Harry's face turned a deep crimson shade) for her to do this to him!

If she really loved Ron, then why go behind his back? He'd be happy for her ... it was worth everything to him to see her happy and if her happiness was to be found in Ron's arms, who was he to tell her no?

That he had his own feelings for her was irrelevant ... it was her choice alone. He'd willingly accept it, swallow down his pain at that thought, smile and tease and dance with her at the wedding ... happily be Ron's best man and even buy them the rings as gifts ... give them the deeds to Grimmauld Place with Padfoot's money so they can re-decorate and improve it to whatever they wanted...

While he slunk away to try and rebuild his shattered life somewhere else far, far away.

There would never be another one for him after Hermione and he felt a momentary pang of pain for the children they would never have – a brood of raven-haired, bushy haired children with eyes of green, chocolate brown or hazel ... they'd play Quidditch in his own private pitch, Hermione would teach them to love books and potions while he taught them to prank Remus, Tonks and little Teddy ...

But it was not to be.

She'd chosen someone else.

"She would have made a perfect Slytherin, you know."

Finely honed reflexes kicked in and he was on his feet behind the chair, wand out and tip glowing, eyes scanning for the threat – dropping his wand and arm when he realized who had spoken to him. It took him a few moments to parse the words and he responded with all the force of his considerable intelligence: "WHAT? ARE YOU NUTS?"

Phineas Nigellus Black stared back at him impassively and sighed to himself. 'How the mighty are fallen,' he thought. 'After seven centuries, the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black is left to this ... this _upstart_ of a Gryffindor. And he is not even of the line of Black ... adopted by Sirius through a blood adoption in the dead of night three Christmases ago in order to circumvent the family's laws...'

Unbidden, the memory of that night came to him ... Sirius had silenced his portrait after he'd railed endlessly at the perceived dilution of the family's line but found himself in grudging admiration of the shrewd and sneaky way that the last male bearing the name of Black had gone around the immutable family law. And he had to admit – after being carried around in that infernal Miss Granger's beaded bag for months – that his last true grandchild had a point in choosing the wizard below him to inherit the name, title and family rather than letting it go by default to that spineless, indolent and idiotic whelp of a Malfoy.

He thought at first that it was pure and simple sentimentality on the part of Sirius; well that and a means of making their ancestors spin in their graves (especially Walburga) but he hadn't truly appreciated the Slytherin cunning and far-sightedness of his descendant. For a brief moment his memories strayed to the weeks spent in that beaded bag – listening to their conversations, watching through the netted weave of the bag and forming his personal opinion of the teens.

He shook himself from his reverie, grateful to whatever kindly Deity kept watch over wizards and witches for having _this_ portrait as a refuge to run to during those trying times ... it was here where he went when he just had to get away from his portrait in that infernal bag – times when he simply had to vent his frustration at the thickness of the boy and his male companion ... hours when he'd returned to vent his spleen at the interfering old coot in the other portrait in this room who'd brought them to this…

He turned back to the sputtering, ranting wizard below him, who was shouting, "What do you mean she'd make a perfect Slytherin? She's _nothing_ like you!"

A single, sardonic eyebrow rose – a gesture that Snape would have envied and copied shamelessly were he still able – and the former Headmaster snickered. "Of course she's _nothing_ like me ... she's a GURL, you fool – didn't you even know that?"

"Wha –" The old headmaster nearly fell off his chair as he tried to suppress his laughter at the gobsmacked wizard facing him. With an elegance and economy of motion that was a joy to behold, Phineas Black rose from his chair to stand behind it, the better to control the laughter engulfing him at the goggle-eyed teen.

"Well?" Phineas challenged.

"I know she's a _girl_, you twat! I've known she was a girl since before the Tournament ... I meant she cannot be like you, you ... The Sorting Hat said that she could have been Gryffindor or Ravenclaw – not Slytherin!"

As the words left his mouth, an echo of the last two words kept repeating in his mind: "_Not Slytherin ... not Slytherin ..._" He'd been repeating those words as a mantra while the Hat pondered on where to put him – and he remembered the words said to him when he was sorted, almost seven years before: "_Are you sure? You would do well in Slytherin, you know ... you have it all there, you would do well in Slytherin..."_

A deep raspy voice responded to one side and Harry spun around, gaping when he realized that the Sorting Hat was speaking from the shelf where it was laid, "Not true, Harry Potter. I don't know where Ms. Granger got that idea but I distinctly remember telling her that she was a most difficult choice ... any of the four houses would have suited her, Slytherin among them."

"WHAT!?! But–"

"Control yourself, Harry Potter," the Hat said and for a fleeting moment, Harry felt as if he were under the intense scrutiny of the magical artefact. He wouldn't be surprised if he saw eyes twinkling back at him and shuddered at the thought. That was the last thing he wanted right now – seeing the twinkling eyes of his last Headmaster looking back at him from the Hat.

The Hat continued, in a contemplative, ruminating tone, "Ms. Granger was most difficult, Harry Potter. She would have had the Four Founders coming to blows over her…"

Harry frowned, the words of the Sorting Hat fading into the background as his thoughts focused on his best friend.

Brave – there could be no doubt of that. She'd been beside him throughout much of his adventures – her courage even when things were going badly was something he'd come to rely on. Her intelligence, of course ... he'd often wondered why she was in Gryffindor and not in Ravenclaw – and he remembered her blushing admission that the Hat considered placing her in Ravenclaw, when she demonstrated the Protean charm on the Galleons for the DA.

But there was her undoubted loyalty and willingness – even eagerness – for hard work. Loyalty to him, she had shown in abundance – fourth year alone showed him that. And the willingness to work – Harry blinked as he remembered staying up till the wee hours of the morning, preparing for the First Task and the Summoning Charm. She never gave up on him, willingly sacrificing her sleep just so he would succeed...

Loyalty and hard work – attitudes prized by Hufflepuff.

But Slytherin? He vaguely heard the Hat talking about ambition ... _ambition?_ The memory of his time under the Sorting Hat came to mind: "_You have a thirst to prove yourself ... Slytherin can help you along the path to greatness ..._"

Wasn't that Hermione Granger in a nutshell? She had the drive and the skill to prove herself ... to show everyone that she not only deserved to be in the wizarding world, but also to show that she was better than anyone else, especially those who looked down on her because of her muggle origins. Ambition in spades ... but, looking back at the years with her, he realized that being cunning and sly was her weak spot. She was too open, she wore her heart on her sleeve and would never go the route of slyness and cunning to achieve her goals ... S.P.E.W. for example. A Slytherin would not have gone about freeing the house elves in that way – although her efforts at knitting and leaving clothes around was just as Slytherin in its thinking, except that it wasn't refined enough to be workable.

She would always look forward and charge, taking the direct route to achieving her dreams and ambitions – backed up and supported by her knowledge and learning, her willingness to work and the courage of her beliefs.

Definitely not Slytherin traits.

"Maybe not, Potter." Harry blinked as Phineas' sardonic voice broke into his reverie – and he realized that he'd been speaking his thoughts out loud. He glanced at the former Headmaster in his portrait as the latter continued, "What _some_ people forget" – and Phineas' eyes flickered for a moment to Dumbledore's portrait – "is that the Hat places people where their _potentials_ are."

"You would have done well in Slytherin, Harry Potter," the Sorting Hat said, echoing its words from seven years before. "As would Ms. Granger. Being in Slytherin would have tempered her enthusiasms, taught both of you to think things through rather than charging in blindly. Ms. Granger's intellect, loyalty and partiality for hard work, combined with Slytherin shrewdness and calculation would have made her a force to reckon with."

A sigh. "Alas, but she was most adamant about _not_ being sorted to Slytherin. She kept insisting, 'Not Slytherin … not Slytherin'…"

The Hat paused, and Harry felt as if the Hat was staring – or was it _glaring_ – at him. "Much like you did." A pregnant pause before the Hat continued, "I cannot help but wonder now if her thoughts – even then – were making their way to you."

Harry gulped – the Hat's words bringing back memories of the all-too-many times when he and Hermione seemed to be communicating at a level beyond words … something that started in their first year and had only grown more frequent since but had seeming been strained in their sixth year, only to come back fully in the last …

He didn't want to think about that and tried to change the conversation's direction, and he gave a small, forced laugh. "Hermione and myself in Slytherin – what a laugh! We'd never have survived with the greasy git in charge…"

"This is precisely why I loathed being a teacher! Young people are so infernally convinced that they are right about everything." Harry looked curiously at Phineas' portrait, remembering his first encounter with the insufferable Headmaster, who said, "What makes you think that everything that happened will have been the same had circumstances not been different? Severus' resentments would have been alleviated somewhat with the child of Lily Evans in his house rather than in James Potter's old house … he would have been a far better mentor to you and Ms. Granger rather than Minerva…"

He held up a hand at Harry's incipient protest. "I respect Minerva's abilities, Potter – although I have questioned the wisdom of having her hold both Deputy Headmistress and Head of House Gryffindor. Being Head of House means spending time with her charges – time that she unfortunately had to fritter away at handling tasks that the _Headmaster_" – the tone of utter contempt was unmistakable – "couldn't or wouldn't be bothered with because of his numerous positions as well as his constant pursuit of the 'Greater Good'."

Harry thought he heard a snort from somewhere and spun around – he shook his head as he realized that all the portraits still remained blank, except for the still-sleeping Snape. He shrugged, thinking that it was the Sorting Hat which made the noise – and he turned back to Phineas, a sarcastic smirk on his face and a sardonic note in his voice, "Snape as mentor? Right – he _mentored_ Malfoy for six years and we all know how well _that_ turned out."

Phineas' rebuttal was stopped by the Hat's voice: "And what makes you think that Mr. Malfoy should have been Sorted into Slytherin, Harry Potter?"

Harry stared back at the Hat in surprise – where else would Malfoy have gone but to Slytherin? He could remember that Sorting – the Hat had barely touched Malfoy's head before shouting, "Slytherin!" and it was that memory which fuelled his indignant response: "He's a Malfoy!"

"Idiot boy!" The sarcasm and disdain was dripping from Phineas Black's portrait in gallons. "Since when did _family_ have a bearing on your Hogwarts house, Potter? By that standard, your godfather should have been in Slytherin ... his lycanthropic friend should have sorted Ravenclaw ... and _his_ mate should have gone to Slytherin also – Nymphadora is a Black, after all."

The Hat interrupted, its conciliatory tone seemingly derailing the former Headmaster's developing rant. "What you must remember, Harry Potter, is that family or bloodlines are the last consideration given to a _proper_ Sorting – the Founders individually prized differing qualities for their Houses … unless you've been sleeping through every Sorting you've sat through, hmmm?"

Harry blushed as he realized that he'd missed three Sortings in his six years at Hogwarts; the embarrassment was tempered, however, as he recalled that the Hat's opening song never really changed … until fifth year, that is. His comment was stopped, however, as it seemed that the Hat had settled in for a good, old-fashioned rant –

"Consider your friends the Weasleys –"

Harry gaped as the Hat talked but found he could not really dispute it – Bill and Charlie sorted correctly because they had both courage and moral fibre to stand for their beliefs (Harry remembered Bill, in particular, opting to return to London to be closer to family and to assist the Order); Percy's driving ambitions and willingness to kiss ass pointing him to Slytherin but his anal retentiveness about rules and authority making him equally suitable for Ravenclaw; the Twins brilliance in inventing made them a shoo-in for Ravenclaw but their boisterous nature would have quickly alienated them from those serious, studious nerds – on the other hand, their compelling determination to own a joke shop implied an equally acceptable placement in Slytherin …Harry shuddered at the thought of Slytherin Weasley Twins – Filch would never have survived that …

He blinked at something the Hat said and jumped in without thinking: "What? Why should Crabbe and Goyle be in _Hufflepuff_ of all places?"

For a moment he felt the need for a bath given the 'look' the Hat seemed to give him and felt equal parts gratitude and anger when Phineas' sarcastic voice boomed: "And why not, Potter? What else have they shown in their years here but a slavish devotion to Draco Malfoy, the only one who seemed to grant them any respect? If they'd been in Hufflepuff, their loyalty and hard work would have been commended and guided _properly_ …"

Harry looked at him curiously. There seemed to be a genuine regret in the former Headmaster's voice – not for the death of a Slytherin but for the loss of a student whose potentials, whatever they may have been, would never be realized now. Crabbe and Goyle in Hufflepuff was a jarring thought but then he had to wonder – would they have been the brutish thugs he'd learned to despise if they'd been in another house where a different sort of guidance was imposed? Could they have been – shocking as it may seem – _friends_ to him if they hadn't been placed in close proximity to Malfoy and his ilk?

He shook his head and turned to the Hat as it said, in a sad and pained voice reflecting that of Phineas Black: "Indeed, Headmaster. So much potential wasted or left unfulfilled … only because _someone_ interfered."

Again Harry found himself frowning at the dynamics in that room – a glance at both Hat and Phineas left him with the distinct impression that both were glaring at the portrait to one side of Snape's – still empty, he noted. Probably inhabiting one of his chocolate frog cards, he thought sardonically, but then he shook his head.

Something was niggling at his mind but he couldn't place it just yet and so voiced a concern that had been lost in the Hat's ranting: "And Draco Malfoy?"

There seemed to be a snort coming from two directions – and his head whiplashed around, only to focus on the Hat's moving mouth: "Draco Malfoy – Sorted into Slytherin but has he shown _any_ of the traits of that house or others? Lacking in ambition or cunning" – Harry snorted at that, considering the numerous confrontations with Malfoy. The only time the blond ferret had shown any finesse was in sixth year, but Harry got the distinct impression that _that_ happened only because _someone_ (probably Bellatrix or Voldemort himself) wrote detailed instructions and made the ponce memorize it – "average in intelligence, gutless when it mattered and distinctly wanting in loyalty – none of the Founders would have wanted him but since his family were mostly Slytherins, that is where he went despite my better judgement."

A sigh. "There was nowhere else to place him … much like your friend Ronald Weasley."

Harry slumped back in a chair – one of the squashy ones that Dumbledore favoured, unwilling to dispute the Hat's words because he could see the grain of truth in it.

Ron, like Malfoy, would have been a distinctly unsavoury candidate for any of the Houses. Courage – Harry remembered Ron blubbering in fear far too many times, from the moment of seeing Fluffy in first year, to confronting Aragog in the Forbidden Forest; he had stood up to Sirius Black in third year but only after Hermione had pushed herself to the front to protect him … Loyalty – Harry shook his head, remembering fourth year and the Horcrux hunt when his supposed best friend had turned his back on them … Hard work? He rolled his eyes – when it involved eating or Quidditch, yes. Otherwise … he'd followed Ron's lead in his academics, choosing Divination and Care of Magical Creatures because they were guaranteed an easy pass … Intelligence – please! The less said, the better … Ambition? He snorted…

And realized with a pang that the same could be said of Ginny Weasley, except that he couldn't be sure … He didn't know enough about her, the workings of her inner mind to make an informed judgement, even after six years of knowing her. She'd always been on the fringes of his consciousness: part of the background, emerging only for brief moments before 'sinking' back into the clutter …

Unlike Hermione who, he now realized, could have been (as Phineas said) 'the perfect Slytherin' if he went past that House's reputation for blood purity. What could have happened, he wondered, if Phineas' pronouncement had come to pass – if he and Hermione had both sorted Slytherin but without the poisonous influence of Draco Malfoy or the debilitating affect of Ronald Weasley?

Would he have done things differently – thought things through more thoroughly before acting, been more calculating and wily, sought more information before charging in blindly … with Hermione still beside him, but her intellect, bravery and loyalty tempered by the innate shrewdness of Slytherin …

Voldemort wouldn't have a chance …so what the hell happened? Had the past seven years been an unneeded gauntlet of flawed decisions, unthinking courage and constant misdirection? It made for a heroic tale, true – but it was a tale rife more with inconsistency and holes rather than a well-thought out and well-planned narrative …

"Why are you telling me this? Why only now after everything that's happened?"

He lifted his head and looked around – the Hat sat on its shelf, seemingly as it always was while Phineas Nigellus Black stood away from his chair, looking into the distance and unwilling to meet his eyes … while Snape still sat silent, asleep in his portrait. He looked at each of them but was only met with silence and avoidance and he sighed.

"It doesn't matter, anyway … it's over now. It's done."

The defeated voice acted like a cattle prod to the distant former head of House Black: "WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT'S DONE, BOY? The battle with Riddle may be over but there are _THINGS_ TO DO! NOW is the time to make a difference …"

"AND WHY SHOULD I?" He shouted back. "I'VE DONE MY PART – LET THEM TAKE UP THE SLACK!" He glared around the room with its mostly empty portraits and glanced inadvertently at the Prophet he'd thrown against the wall, its damning picture continually mocking him. He felt the pain of that photo slamming against his chest and gestured towards it as he whispered, "It's their world now … there's nothing for me here."

"Urrhhgghh." If Harry had looked up at that moment, he would have been treated to the sight of two former Slytherin Headmasters rolling their painted eyes in a gesture so reminiscent of a bushy-haired Gryffindor before Phineas bellowed once again, "USE YOUR HEAD, BOY! It is there for a purpose other than a resting place for a hat!"

Harry Potter glanced at the raving portrait with disinterest. "What's there to think about? They're married now…"

Phineas' eyes were looking to the heavens as if he couldn't believe the words coming from the teen wizard below him. "It's a MUGGLE wedding, you uneducated fool! Don't you know _anything_ about the wizarding world…?"

Harry's eyes blazed at the continued sarcasm in the portrait's tone. "I know enough to know that wizards marrying in the Muggle world get automatically registered in the magical world!" He turned away, slumping as if his insides had turned to goo, muttering, "And I know there's no divorce in the wizarding world."

"And you're just going to sit there and TAKE IT? If you were Slytherin, _BOY_, you'd have known that not everything is as it seems – that, as the muggle-borns put it, it ain't over till Helga Hufflepuff sings!"

The Sorting Hat's shout of 'Hey' in defence of the rather generously embodied Founder was lost as a streaking silver blur darted in – coalescing into the silvery form of a Patronus otter, which stood up on its hind legs and, staring at Harry's eyes, said, "_Harry ... help me ... I need you, Harry ..._"

It was the only thing which could have broken Harry from his funk.

"Hermione? What …where …" He spun around in a panic until his eyes lit on the otter below him. "Where are you? How do I…"

Phineas Black was readying himself for another sarcastic comment when he stopped, mesmerized by the seeming interaction between the Patronus otter and Potter who were looking each other in the eye – and blinked as the otter jumped into Harry's arms, followed by a soft 'pop' as both wizard and otter disappeared.

Severus Snape lifted his painted head from its snoozing position and turned, a sardonic eyebrow aimed at Phineas Black. "Laying it on a bit thick at the end there, weren't you?"

Phineas Black gave an exasperated sigh as he ran his fingers through this hair, making it look – for the briefest of moments – like Harry's unruly mop. "I swear, Severus, the boy is uncommonly _thick_ … If he didn't have Granger to think for him and provide guidance, I fear for the future of not just the House of Black but the House of Potter as well."

Snape stretched, rolled his neck and shoulders – for all the world like a man doing limbering exercises and his eyes inadvertently fell on the Daily Prophet below him. His face contorted into a grimace that generations of students had learned to hate as he said, "Unfortunately, he's right … there's nothing to be done now."

"Indeed." Phineas Black and Severus Snape turned at that extremely satisfied voice and watched Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore waltzed into his portrait and sat in his golden chair, a cheerful smile on his face and his eyes twinkling at full force. "And it is all to the good."

"The 'Greater Good,' I suppose?" Phineas snapped and Dumbledore's twinkle increased even more as he gave a bow and smirk.

"You _planned_ this, Dumbledore?" The three former Headmasters turned and realized that the other Headmaster portraits were now occupied; the question came from Dexter Fortescue whose normally red face was several degrees darker. "Even now, when he has fulfilled his destiny, you refuse to let him live his life? Are you never going to leave that young man alone?"

"It's for the Greater Good," Dumbledore replied, ignoring the snorts of the others as well as a raspberry blown by the Sorting Hat at him. "But _planned_ it? No … I had hoped for it, prayed that it will come to pass … but planned for it? No."

He glanced down at the Prophet with its animated photograph and smiled. "I never knew that Ronald had it in him for such a bold action. But he _is_ Gryffindor."

Snape snorted in his portrait. "Weasley? The only way that redheaded buffoon would find the courage to do something like that is if Foghorn Molly pushed him into doing it!"

Dumbledore shrugged, uninterested in the ranting of his former Potions professor and successor. He leaned back in his chair and beamed back at the others, and granted a patronizing smile at Dilys Derwent who'd asked, "But why? What's all this in aid of, Albus?"

"It's for the Greater Good, Dilys," portrait-Dumbledore repeated, but hurried on before the others could react. "It keeps young Harry safe from Ms. Granger's corrupting influence."

The old man's twinkling blue eyes narrowed, becoming points of sharp, focused light as he continued, "Can't any of you imagine the danger to our world when the Boy Who Lived, The Man Who Won, The Defeater of He Who Must Not Be Named is allied with and fully supports the radical, outlandish ideas of Ms. Granger? Her obsession with freeing the house elves is just the tip of the iceberg – what other bizarre ideas will she advocate? Bring the goblins into the Wizengamot? Ask the mer-people to participate in our councils?

"No! The world - _our_ world must be kept safe for witches and wizards alone ... it is _our world_, brought into fruition through our hard work and toil ... why should we share it with non-humans and other abominations?

"With Ms. Granger married to Mr. Weasley, she will be contained – her flawed enthusiasms directed properly and guided appropriately. She will better appreciate our world rather than impose her peculiar ideas on us and our world will continue to be safe."

"And Mr. Potter?"

Dumbledore shrugged. "He is free to marry who he will … although a marriage with a proper Pureblood from a light family would be best." He glanced at Phineas with a smirk, "At the least, there will be no need to blast another name from your Family tapestry, Phineas … Harry Potter-Black married to a pureblood will more than satisfy your family's motto of '_Toujours Pur_'."

The look that Phineas Black gave Dumbledore was pure contempt, and his voice was not far behind. "You incompetent fool. What has being blood pure gotten my family except to be decimated and leaving us at the brink of extinction? Better if he married the Granger girl – the infusion of fresh blood and even fresher ideas would have revitalized the family … I had been hopeful that Potter would be able to change that motto from being seen as the epitome of blood purity but rather the purity of ideas and light."

Dumbledore's retort was interrupted by the Sorting Hat. "And what if Harry Potter leaves the wizarding world, Dumbledore? What if he chooses not to marry any of the candidates you have so assiduously chosen for him? You forget – I had a chance for a glimpse into his mind after the battle when some fool placed me on his head … his feelings for Ms. Granger are such that if he is denied her friendship and companionship, he would gladly leave us all … what then of your grand plan?"

Again the old man shrugged, apparently not interested. "If he leaves, he leaves – nothing changes. The important thing is that Ms. Granger's radical ideas are contained and kept in check – our world will be kept safe and secure and life goes on."

He looked around at the red and angry faces of the former Headmasters and gracefully got to his feet and gave an elegant bow. "If you will excuse me, I have places to visit that I haven't been to in some time."

The portraits watched as he disappeared before exploding in indignation and rage.

"The fool!" Dilys Derwent shouted. "Radical ideas indeed! Those ideas should have been in place a hundred years ago!"

"Indeed, Dilys," Dexter Fortescue said. "Slavery has been long abolished in the muggle world but we have kept it going – it matters not that the elves are seen as an inferior race … history has shown that slavery and abuse of others lead to a nation's eventual destruction!"

The others chimed in – but stopped at Armando Dippet's morose voice. "Be that as it may, my friends, but I am afraid that Mr. Potter and Dumbledore are correct. There is nothing to be done … it's over."

During the heated exchange, two portraits were silent – Severus Snape watched quietly, his head swivelling around as opinions were raised and keeping his own counsel. Phineas Nigellus Black, on the other hand, simply watched his colleagues with a smug expression on his face – which he quickly wiped off as he realized that Snape's eyes were on him.

"You know something, don't you?" The loud voice of Snape silenced the others and they all turned to stare at Black's portrait; the latter simply looked back at them with an angelic expression that none had seen in decades, even when he was alive and seated at the Headmaster's chair, as Snape continued, "You know something … all those months in Granger's beaded bag … listening and watching …"

"Me?" Phineas' face took on an innocent expression. "I don't know what you're talking about, Severus … all you wanted me to do was to keep an eye on them and tell you where they were."

Snape's look of disbelief was interrupted by Dilys Derwent's amused voice: "Of course he knows something, Severus … not unless he spent the whole time buried in Ms. Granger's underwear."

There was a collective 'EWWWW!' from the portraits – broken only by a sight and sound not heard for the longest time in the Head's office: loud, raucous laughter coming from the Sorting Hat.


	3. Chapter 3

Grâce au Malfoys – Part 3

**Standard Disclaimer**: The usual disclaimers: the story is based on characters and situations created by JK Rowling, copyright owned by JKR, Bloomsbury, Scholastic Press, Warner Bros., etc. No money is being made from this tale, yadda yadda yadda ...

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Before we continue with this tale, my deepest gratitude to everyone who reviewed. Your thoughts and comments are much appreciated. As for the questions raised (especially about Dumbledore being OOC), hopefully the answers will be posted soon. ;)

And so it goes. Or rather … here goes nothin' …

***

**The Three Broomsticks (Honeymoon Suite)**

With an angry swipe at her teary eyes, Hermione Jane Granger shook off her funk and considered her situation.

She felt mortified – not about her over the top reaction with Ron, but the weep fest she'd indulged in for a bit there, bawling out her anger and frustration, focusing too much on the seeming inevitability of her 'marriage' to Ron and feeling so abused and used that she'd ended up crying for Harry to save her.

She shook her head and levered herself to her feet. No – she was Hermione Jane Granger, smartest witch in a generation; the 'brains' behind the mythical trio where Harry provided the brawn and Ron offer comic relief as well as occasional insight; the one who had been with Harry Potter through his many battles and adventures in defence of the Light.

She was no shrinking violet; the Sorting Hat had agreed to place her in Gryffindor for a reason – and she'd taken down her share of Death Eaters, including Mad Bella, during the final battle. It was time, once again, to earn her keep – to prove that she deserved her place in Gryffindor and her position beside Harry Potter.

With that thought, she sat on the waterbed (which was, after all, more comfortable than the floor), tucked her legs under her and focused. First things first, she thought.

Where was she?

Looking around, she realized that she was in an inn – probably the honeymoon suite, given the huge waterbed she'd landed in and the decor in the room. Muggle or magical? She glanced at the window and frowned. The sky was overcast, lending a somewhat gloomy air to the forest outside … and was that a castle in the distance? She couldn't tell … but felt sure it was. Hogsmeade? The Three Broomsticks? Possibly, she thought – that answered one question.

Next ... clothes. She frowned as she realized that there was nothing in the place – except the knickers turned portkey that she'd grabbed earlier. She wasn't going to touch _those_ with a ten-foot pole right now ... She felt an eyebrow lift – whoever did this had planned it well. Leaving the two of them in the room with no clothes would make things more difficult to explain afterwards ... Good thing, she realized, that whoever thought up this prank forgot to check for anti-apparition wards or Ronald would have been in a world of hurt.

Or maybe dead.

She shook herself of that thought – now that she had calmed down, she realized that Ron would not be a party to such a prank. His description of her in first year came to mind – 'brilliant but scary' – and he'd had ample reasons to repeat that assessment ever since. And he sure as hell wouldn't take the risk of pushing her 'scary' buttons, especially now ... she had a sneaking suspicion that the only reason he came back to them after Christmas was the fear of what _she_ would do if she survived Voldemort and came looking for _him_.

Of course, he went looking for them _after_ Christmas – probably after a good meal with all the trimmings at Shell Cottage or the Burrow which the prat didn't even think of bringing along with him.

Hermione dismissed that line of thought as unproductive, although ... maybe she should be grateful that Ron had escaped her righteous fury. She could only imagine the commotion that would happen if either she or Ron ventured out of the room starkers. It would only confirm what most people should now be thinking and make it more difficult to correct the impression created by the Daily Prophet...

She felt an anvil slam into her guts again and she doubled over in pain as she thought of the Daily Prophet ... Harry would have seen it by now and would have drawn the inevitable conclusion. She'd already been accused of playing with the affections of two wizards on opposite sides during the Tri-Wizard and – no matter how she displayed her loyalty and devotion to Harry ever since – Harry was still a boy.

He was the über -Gryffindor – charging into situations without thinking things through, relying too much on her brains and knowledge rather than seeking it out himself ... but then, Harry had a sense of loyalty worthy of Helga Hufflepuff – and a shrewdness that would have Salazar cheering. She could only hope that he would take a pause and think things through before proclaiming her guilty ... that he would weigh everything that they'd been through together without Ron before thinking that she had, finally, abandoned him when the quest was over.

Again, she shook those thoughts off. She'll face it when she had to ... so, where was she?

Clothes. Not really a problem – she'd just transfigure the bed sheets or towels into something ... and stopped when she realized another problem.

She didn't have a wand.

Not that big a thing, in normal circumstances. In fact, she felt some relief at losing her wand – it had been Mad Bella's until she'd captured it during their escape from Malfoy manor. She'd had no choice but to use it but it had always been with a sense of unease ... she'd promised herself that she would destroy it the moment she could get a replacement wand from Mr. Ollivander but not having it would make things difficult right now.

Hermione sighed ... well, not really. What very few people knew – and of those, Harry was the only one in the wizarding world – was that the Grangers, including their daughter, were practicing naturists. It was a major reason why she'd chosen Australia as a refuge for them ... there were any number of clothing-optional and nudist locations there and the country had a more open attitude to the matter than the United States.

She felt a smile ghosting her lips as she remembered how Harry found out – by walking into her 'room' in their magical tent soon after Ron had left them, to find her brushing her hair without a stitch on. Harry backed out of her room, flustered, embarrassed and looking everywhere but at her – she'd chased after him without thinking and sat him down to 'discuss' her outlook and preferences.

That he'd been easily accepting was a mark in his favour; that he'd spent the whole time looking at her eyes (allowing her some moments of drowning in his beautiful green eyes) earned him even higher marks. They'd decided to keep her room clothing-optional and spent many hours since in comfortable companionship, although she made sure that she never flaunted herself outside her space – and when they slept together (there were many nights of that, when one or the other needed the comfort of knowing they were not alone), she made sure they were always fully clothed.

The return of the prat, however, effectively cut off their idyllic situation. The very thought of being nude and comfortable around Ron gave her the hives – it was something that would never happen. Ron – like Molly and probably the others – was just too conservative and traditionalist (make that Victorian, she thought) to easily accept her beliefs. Plus – and she'd had ample evidence of this earlier – it would take Ron some time to get over his hormones and see her as a person who was comfortable without clothing in the privacy of her room.

Hermione again dismissed that train of thought as irrelevant to her current situation. There were no clothes in the room, so she would do without for the moment ... if she needed to, she'd come up with something. It was what Harry had always trusted her to do ... so she would do it.

So what did that leave her? She glanced at the dresser with its pictures, papers and parchments – and felt her blood boil.

_Someone_ had done this to them – to her and Harry, as well as Ron – she was going to find out and exact a long and painful death from whoever it was. Her first suspects would have been the Weasley Twins but that was easily dismissed ... like Ron, they had an unnaturally high respect for her abilities. She'd turn them into pumpkins before anyone could say 'Halloween' ... no, the twins were brave but definitely not suicidal.

Besides ... she couldn't imagine Fred and George being able to carry on the way the 'Ron' and 'Hermione' in the pictures did. Twisted they may be ... but _perverts?_ The mere thought of Fred and George snogging each other just to pull a prank like this turned her stomach ... nope, not them.

The Twins and their girlfriends? Same thing – any possible conspirators the Twins could approach would be too scared of her and Harry to try it; they all had experience with Harry's temper and her abilities to try anything…

Remus and Tonks? Possibly ... but why? And for the two to go to such lengths ... muggle wedding complete with marriage contracts, photographs to the Daily Prophet, the portkey earlier and this room ... nuh-uh. Even the Marauders wouldn't spend that much time and effort on a prank ... much less the resources which, Hermione was aware, was rather tight for the moment. She'd discussed the matter with Harry two or three days before, and they were trying to scheme out a way to provide some financial assistance to the Lupins.

Molly? Hermione's eyes narrowed ... Molly had never been shy about her ideas for One Big Happy Weasley Family and had been blatantly obvious in trying to throw Ron and Hermione together during the weeks spent at Grimmauld Place before Harry arrived, the summer before fifth year. She'd found an ally in Sirius in avoiding such situations, although the wily Marauder had found endless enjoyment in teasing her about Harry; fortunately, Sirius decided to tone it down when Harry was there ... no need to have Molly on _his_ case for wanting to derail her plans.

And there was sixth year ... and the times since when she wondered whether she was under the influence of love potions. That year ... she preferred not to think about it over much; she'd much rather think about the year just past rather than the one before ... but the memory of she, Ginny and Molly giggling over love potions when they were staying at the Leaky Cauldron in the summer of 1993 was constantly on her mind.

One has to wonder where the Twins got their recipe for the love potions they were selling in their shop two years ago ... If Molly engineered this situation, she'd have her dreams for One Big Happy Weasley Family up and running ... Hermione married to Ron, leaving only Ginny and Harry to complete her dream family...

Hermione shook her head. Maybe, maybe not ... but most probably not.

She just couldn't see the Weasley matriarch being scheming enough and devious enough to pull off something like this. This was not a 'prank' – it was simply too sophisticated in terms of planning, preparation and execution to be undertaken by a single person, no matter how determined. At the very least, it required two people who were more than comfortable with each other – the lascivious and amorous photographs were ample proof of that! It also needed someone who had contacts with or was more than familiar with the muggle world – documents had to be forged for them to have gotten 'married' so quickly, someone had to arrange for the venue, minister and photographers ... and someone had to arrange for this room, the notice to the Daily Prophet...

It required too much in time, effort and galleons to pull off ... and that, in itself, precluded the Weasley matriarch from the list of suspects. That she wanted her perfect 'family' was obvious – but she just couldn't see Molly having the time and resources to implement it.

Besides, who would have helped Molly pull this off? Arthur? Nuh-uh ... Arthur might be a meek, mild-mannered man completely scared of his wife but she felt sure there were some things that he wouldn't cross. Going through all the trouble – although Arthur's muggle fascination would have been useful in working out the plans ... but he wouldn't willingly go along with something like _this_.

Hermione shook her head – she was running in circles. The list of suspects capable of doing this was surprisingly short – nonexistent, really. But that was only the people _she_ was familiar with...

Which meant an outsider. But who? And more importantly, _why_?

Hermione took a deep, fortifying breath – there was no choice. She had to look over the evidence at hand, force herself to review those photographs of 'her' and 'Ron' with an objective eye (and keep reminding herself that it wasn't 'them' doing things that would turn her stomach) and try to spot some anomaly, some inconsistency or flaw that she could use as a loophole to get out of this.

"All right," she said out loud. "Let's do this."

She didn't know how difficult it would be to look at photographs of something that she had never wanted to see – not even in her worst nightmares. Her intention of scrutinizing each photograph carefully was derailed the moment she saw the first one – 'Ron' and 'her' doing a tonsil-seeking, tongue-duelling, saliva-swapping 'dance' in front of the Minister and witnesses – and 'she' even had her hand down his pants!

Urghkh – there was a brief moment when she wanted to rush for the bathroom and have a conversation with the porcelain goddess but clamped down on the bile ... there was something

niggling at her mind ... she set the photos aside for the moment, promising that she'd look at them again later, probably after a few fire whiskeys or something stronger.

Hermione turned to the muggle marriage contract and assorted documents attached – and felt her heart dropping after a few minutes. It was perfect, from what she could see ... everything needed was there: birth certificates, licenses, their perfectly forged signatures, witnesses (she'd bet everything she had that there'd be at least one, maybe two 'wizards' in attendance) – and she blinked when she realized that the 'wedding' had been performed at Gretna Green ... the one place in England, Scotland and Wales where they could get married at age 17, without parental consent.

She slumped on the bed, defeated – she was legally married to Ronald Bilius. There was no way to get out of this ... it had been too well planned and executed. Listlessly, she opened the rolled-up parchment that was the only thing she hadn't looked at and gave it a cursory glance.

Her first thought confirmed her fears – it was a magical marriage contract with the Ministry of Magic's banner across the top, followed by the words 'Marriage Contract' in florid Old English text below – and then her eyes widened in shock, her mouth dropped open in surprise, her body stiffened in amazed disbelief –

Across the parchment ran huge, red as flame block letters in a diagonal line – '**DENIED**'.

It took almost a minute for the word and its meanings to make its way through Hermione's shocked brain – and even then she could only stare at it in disbelief. How it happened ... _why_ it happened ... she wondered vaguely if everything that had happened was a trick but if so, why would _anyone_ go through such an elaborate ploy – for what end?

It was the soft 'pop' of someone apparating into the room which broke Hermione out of her dazed state and she jumped from the bed, prepared to attack or defend or – if it was any of several members of a certain redheaded family – to tear them limb from limb ... only for her eyes to widen in astonishment at the sight of a befuddled wizard in robes, green eyes blinking at his surroundings – and she _launched_ herself, her battle-cry of "HAARRRYYY!" resounding in her ears...

***

**The Great Hall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

It took some time but finally, order had been made out of the chaos caused by Ron's unexpected appearance. Arthur had been the first to shake off his shock and threw his travelling cloak over his naked son; Madam Pomfrey came in running from the hospital wing and was quickly casting diagnostic charms on the still-shaking wizard, throwing worried glances at his bruised throat where finger marks were visible; Tonks had cast a Sonorus on herself and ordered those in the hall to clear out.

She followed this up with actually pushing people out with the Weasley males helping (except Percy, who had floo'd to the Ministry earlier). There was a short tussle with Defence Association members led by Neville Longbottom who refused to leave – it took the steely glare and harsh brogue of Minerva McGonagall to make them go away.

With a tired sigh, Tonks rolled her shoulders and looked around, carefully cataloguing the people left. Ron was seated where Harry had been before he showed up, with Molly and Ginny on either side, trying to comfort him. Remus stood close behind him, ever watchful and ready for action. Bill and Fleur were in one corner, whispering heatedly to each other with Charlie beside them, frowning at the conversation; her mother Andromeda was holding Teddy while Fred and George tried to entertain him.

The only teachers in attendance were McGonagall, Flitwick and Hagrid; Tonks had to grin at the sight of Filius standing on the Slytherin's table as he talked with his colleagues.

Tonks frowned ... and relaxed when she saw Poppy Pomfrey standing by the Gryffindor table, sipping a mug of fragrant coffee, her tired face looking bemusedly at the Prophet with its screaming headlines. She seemed to feel Tonks' eyes on her and lifted her head to face her and asked, "Is this true?"

Tonks shrugged tiredly, "It's the Prophet, what do you think?"

She frowned when she saw a look of focused concentration on the healer's face; it seemed as if she was trying to work something out in her head, but was interrupted by Arthur Weasley, who'd approached after giving Ron a final once-over.

"Poppy," a worried Arthur started in a low voice, "what are those bruises on my son's neck?"

Tonks glanced at Remus, who nodded and started casting silencing and privacy spells as well as a Colloportus at the door, ensuring both privacy and a contained environment for them. He didn't leave his post behind Ron, however, and Tonks grinned – his exceptional hearing didn't make it necessary for him to approach them.

"He'll be fine, Arthur," Tonks heard Poppy telling Arthur. She approached the two, realizing that the trio of McGonagall, Hagrid and Flitwick had also approached; Poppy waited for everyone to approach before continuing in a low voice so as not to be overheard by the others – "I've seen bruises like that before, plus he also has bruises on his back – someone picked him up by the neck and threw him against a cushioned wall … probably a female were, from the size of the hand and the power behind it." A pause. "Or an angry, powerful witch."

She threw a knowing look at the Prophet on the table and Tonks and McGonagall gasped as they realized what she was implying. Before the Auror or the Headmistress could say anything, however, a loud roar interrupted them –

A distraught and shaking Ronald Weasley was on his feet, his face red and in Molly Weasley's visibly shocked face: "I DON'T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED, MUM! I DON'T CARE WHAT HAPPENED – I DID NOT MARRY HERMIONE GRANGER IN ANY CEREMONY, MUGGLE OR OTHERWISE … I DO NOT WANT TO MARRY HER!"

He suddenly gulped at realizing that he'd just screamed at his mother; he suddenly slumped in his chair, hands nervously rubbing his face, his mumbles clearly heard in the silent Great Hall: "She's _scary_, mum … brilliant, but _scary_."

"Oh boy," Tonks mumbled to herself as she followed Poppy Pomfrey, whose wand was out and casting diagnostic charms on the shaking young man.

***

**The Three Broomsticks (Honeymoon Suite)**

Harry's life was built on impulse – his most Gryffindorish trait, he often thought, which was in sharp contrast to the cold, calculating Slytherin side he'd felt but never let loose before – but he didn't care at the moment. Acting on impulse had got him this far – if it got him to where Hermione was, he really didn't care.

He didn't know where he was going or what he was facing – the only thing on his mind when he saw and heard Hermione's patronus was that he had to get to her ... he _needed_ to get to her ... When the ethereal otter jumped into his arms, he allowed his magic to flow and he disappeared ... when he re-materialized, he had only a split second to blink and take in his surroundings before his eyes caught sight of that speeding blur and he had less than a second to take his stance – feet apart, arms spread wide in welcome, whole body braced for impact even as a smile was breaking out on his still-worried and worn face.

It took Harry's higher brain functions a few seconds to catch up with him, assess the situation – and promptly shut down.

It wasn't the sight of Hermione leaping on him or Hermione's rib-cracking hug that shut his higher brain functions down. The 'Hermione hug' (as he called it) was, after all, how she greeted him in the summer of 1995 when he finally showed up at Grimmauld Place after weeks at Privet Prison. It was also the way she'd greeted him a few, precious times in the months since – and something he'd come to cherish because it gave him an opportunity to inhale and savour Hermione's unique scent, a guilty pleasure he didn't want anyone to know...

That Hermione was naked was also of little consequence – after the weeks spent together in their clothing-optional little world, he was entirely comfortable with seeing her as she was, warts and all (not that he'd ever seen even one wart on her).

No – being given a 'Hermione hug' or even seeing a naked Hermione was not a problem for Harry Potter.

It was being at the receiving end of a _naked_ Hermione giving him a full-body hug and squeeze that forced the air from his lungs that caused his higher brain functions to shut down – simply because his body had re-directed oxygen-rich and adrenalin-fuelled blood away from his 'higher brain' and coursed it to the one down below ... specifically, to 'Little Harry' who was doing his darned best to prove that he was a '_big_' boy...

For the unthinking Hermione, this was a moment made in heaven – even the instant when Voldemort was utterly defeated could not compare to the emotions running through her now.

She wasn't married to Ron and then God, Merlin, the Fates or whichever deity watched over all good witches and wizards had seen fit to bring Harry into this room with her. There could be no other thought in her head but the need to wrap her arms around him, to feel that lean body which she'd hugged a precious few times in the past, to bury her face in his chest and feel his heart beat...

It was in those arms that she knew she would feel safest and happiest – there, against Harry's chest where the world held no danger for her. It was her refuge ... her safe place ... the only space where she truly felt protected and loved...

She felt Harry's warm hands rubbing her back and she hugged him even tighter as she buried her face in his chest, her nostrils catching a faint whiff of that all too recognizable scent of Harry's which became more noticeable at the end of the school day after hiking all over the school, or after a hard-won game of Quidditch, and especially after another adventure where they'd barely escaped with their lives...

It was an aroma that she'd come to cherish – because it had come to signify the end of the day, the end of another adventure ... the end of another dangerous game and she knew that he was, once again, on the ground and safe. It had become her guilty pleasure during the Horcrux hunt because it signalled the end of another day that they'd escaped detection and could continue on –it meant it would be time for a bath and a meal in their magical tent, time to lie down and sleep with Harry beside her, keeping each other's nightmares away...

It was at that moment when she was about to give in to that longed-for sensation of safety and peace that she realized that _something_ was different ... and felt a fiery wave of embarrassment flow from her head to her toes. She had to wonder for a fleeting moment why she did not just burst into flame like a phoenix as she realized her currently naked state, wrapped around her best friend and the wizard of so many of her dreams, past and current – all of her brain functions shutting down in surprise because she could feel _something _offlyingbroomstick proportions pressing against her...

It was a sensation that was familiar … she'd felt it in the mornings during the Horcrux hunt when she'd wake up with Harry behind her, arms wrapped protectively around her … and 'something' pressed against her back. It was something felt in the mornings as she was swimming towards consciousness, her organized mind nagging at her to wake up, to face the coming day with a smile ... but the feeling would disappear as the weight behind her shifted and he'd be off to his morning ablutions. She'd often spent a few more minutes in feigned sleep, trying to recapture the moment and the feeling but being unable to, simply because it was too fleeting and would happen close to the moment between sleeping and wakefulness ... and something she wasn't comfortable discussing with him.

Not when they were in the middle of a life-or-death adventure, the weight of the magical world on their shoulders, when every moment of ordinary, 'normal' existence could be their last. It had taken Harry some time to become comfortable with her clothing-optional attitude, adding _that_ to the mix would have upset the balance – pointing it out to him would have sent him hurtling to his bed and she didn't want to lose the comfort of having him close by as she slept…

But now the 'issue' was apparent and she could feel from Harry's stiffened torso that he knew it too. She didn't know what to do – being in Harry's arms just felt so good, so peaceful and relaxing after the minutes or hours of tension, anger and frustration of today. Her body was unwilling to move, except to wrap her arms even more tightly around him while a tiny portion of her brain kept asking why she was so loathe to let go, why she wanted to press in even closer to the broomstick at her stomach...

From somewhere in the deepest recesses of Hermione Jane Granger's well-organized mind, a memory surfaced of something she'd watched when she was much, much younger, sitting between her movie-fan parents, staring at a black-and-white movie as she ate from a bowl of popcorn ... the memory made its way from its filing cabinet where it had been buried to her brain, which fired it down to the muscles of her mouth and voice box, and Hermione heard herself murmuring something she didn't understand then but could fully appreciate now: "Is that a pistol in your pocket, or are you just glad to see me?"

***

**The Great Hall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

Molly Prewitt Weasley was shocked, speechless and stunned – wondering where everything had gone so wrong. She'd been walking around in a near-rapture for days … He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was gone, her family had come through the war mostly unscathed – and most importantly, her family would soon grow with the addition of Harry and Hermione. Everything she'd hoped for ever since the Twins had told them that they'd met Harry Potter on the Hogwarts Express nearly seven years before was coming to pass ... and it didn't hurt that her youngest son had nabbed himself the brightest witch since Rowena Ravenclaw.

What more would she need? She had visions of her extended family dancing before her eyes – a whole brood of magical grandchildren to spoil, Harry and Ginny on the porch eating chocolate balls while Ron taught the kids to fly and Fleur and Hermione were in the kitchen helping her prepare for the family feast...

Heaven.

It had been one hell of a ride, she thought – even worse than the trips to their vault in Gringotts with its twists, turns, sudden dips and exhilarating highs.

Two events stood out in stark contrast to each other – she'd been on top of the world at the end of her Ginny's first year at Hogwarts when Harry, Ron and Ginny entered the Headmaster's office with Fawkes, the Sorting Hat and Gryffindor's sword – and she learned that Harry had rescued Ginny from the Chamber of Secrets, sealing in her mind the fact of a special bond between her only daughter and the Hero of the Wizarding World.

Contrast the exhilaration of that day to Christmas last year when she visited Fleur and Bill at Shell Cottage – only to find Ronald there alone and moping, leaving Harry and Hermione all alone in a magical tent doing only Merlin knows what! The eruption of Mount Mollywobbles had been spectacular – such that Ron had run out of the cottage and apparated away in record-breaking time, without even thinking of putting together a food package for himself and his friends.

But it had all been for the best and she was again on a high the past few days after He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's defeat ... Ronald had been walking around in a daze, head in the clouds because of the adulation he received at being one of the Golden Trio that had taken You-Know-Who down – and babbling constantly about the fact that Hermione had kissed him!

She'd had a feeling yesterday when Harry had run into the Great Hall all hot and bothered, gibbering in fear and not making sense until he was able to explain that Ron and Hermione had disappeared from their dorms. Her first thought was a deep and nameless fear but she'd calmed down when they realized that their wands and Hermione's now-famous beaded bag had gone with them...

Today, however, had highs and lows coming on each other so fast and furious that she finally understood that muggle toy called a 'yo-yo' which Arthur once brought home and which only Hermione knew how to use.

She was on top of the world when the Daily Prophet came in with that wonderful photo of Ron and Hermione and, although she was disappointed that they'd chosen to elope rather than have the grand wedding of her dreams (a double wedding at that, with Harry and her Ginny as the other pair), she'd swallowed it down in order to 'console' Harry and 'guide' him to the reality that he and Ginny were fated to be next in line.

That bubble had quickly burst when the fire fight erupted and she was on the floor with Ginny while her sons and Arthur put up shields and returned fire; she had a brief moment of elation when she realized that Ron was in the Hall which quickly disappeared with Ginny's cry of dismay at Harry's disappearance followed by her shock at Ron's _au naturel_ state...

She'd finally settled down, realizing that the priority for the moment was her youngest son; Harry could wait until he came out of his funk – and she'd been doing her best to calm Ron down ... a major problem since Ron was communicating in mumbles and shaking worse than Remus after a difficult transformation...

Molly tried to get Ron to settle down by focusing on the important things; she'd simply asked when Ron and Hermione were going to have a 'proper' wedding when Ron blew up at her – and she was facing a younger, slimmer and male version of herself in a major tantrum – and _that_ had caused her to rock back in her seat and stare, open-mouthed, at her son.

But not for long. The irrepressible and unsinkable Molly's face changed in a heartbeat from alabaster pale to high-end Weasley red and she was on her feet with her face an inch from Ron's as she hissed in a low, sibilant voice: "Watch your mouth, Ronald Weasley! It's all over the Prophet and you're not going to weasel out of this –"

The other Weasleys (even Arthur) winced – Molly's unintended use of the joke that had followed all of them through school and even beyond was a fair indication of how flustered she was. None of them were prepared, however, when Ron's roar interrupted their mother, probably for the first time in her life: "HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU –"

Hands clapping on their shoulders made both mother and son turn around in shock – Arthur's hands were on Molly while Remus' callused hands were on Ron's. Poppy's forced-calm voice made the older witch and young wizard gape: "Mr. Weasley's right, Molly … I found traces of a sleeping charm on him ... he couldn't have been aware of what was going on until he woke up…"

Poppy's revelation triggered something in Ron's adrenaline-soaked brain and his mind processed thoughts at unaccustomed speed: falling asleep in his dorm, waking up to a delicious fantasy which quickly turned into a nightmare, the fascinating sight of Hermione's bits replaced by that fearsome image of Hermione with murder in her eyes, the fact that _someone_ had set him up –

Ronald Weasley went postal –

He was on his feet in a flash – his elbow catching Remus unawares and the werewolf staggered back; Ron's other hand grabbed Ginny's wand from behind her ear where she'd stuck it, ala Luna Lovegood – pointed it and a blood-red, non-verbal silent cutting curse was let loose, right at a pair of redheaded twins who had, fortunately, moved away from trying to entertain a sleepy Teddy Lupin.

The twins' survival instincts kicked in and they were diving to the floor and making like pancakes as the red bolt flew over them and sliced through the neck of a surprised Sir Nicholas de Mimsy Porpington who exclaimed, "I say!" before the curse was absorbed by the ancient castle.

Before Ron could cast another spell, Remus had him disarmed and sitting on the chair, clamping his hands down on the furious wizard's shoulders to stop him from physically attacking his brothers – but unable to keep Ron's mouth from working as the young man roared, spittle flying as he glared at his flat on the floor brothers, "YOU! YOU DID THIS TO ME! WHAT THE _HELL_ WERE YOU TRYING TO DO, KILL ME?" Whatever else he was going to say was cut off as Andromeda Tonks cast a silencing charm on him before she turned back to comfort a crying Teddy…

"Not us, brother mine…" Came a voice from the floor.

"Yeah," the other pancake echoed. "We're not that stupid…"

"Crazy…"

"Suicidal…"

"To try that on Hermione…"

"You, maybe, but not…"

"Hermione…"

"Everybody calm down." McGonagall's Scottish brogue cut the twin pancakes off and they shakily got to their feet. She glanced around to see that everyone was safe before turning to the healer, "Poppy?"

Madam Pomfrey shook her head; she didn't have any more Calming Draughts to give and wasn't sure if it would help – the adrenaline still coursing through Ron was more than enough to burn out the potion. She was about to cast a Cheering Charm on the still-angry redhead but Molly's voice interrupted her: "Tea, anyone?"

The Weasley children and Order members rolled their eyes while Andromeda looked confused. To those who knew her, tea was Mrs. Weasley's answer to everything, as Harry and Hermione learned in third year when they were trying to comfort a bawling Hagrid.

Molly tapped her wand against the mug she'd been trying to push on Harry earlier (which had surprisingly survived the chaos unscathed) and a gentle wisp of steam escaped. Poppy's revelation was a shock, but that didn't change (in her mind) the facts of the case: pictures don't lie and Ron and Hermione were married. True, something else may have happened but that didn't change the fact ... she just had to calm her youngest son down and then they could work out what happened, why – and plan for the proper wedding – as she handed Ron the mug.

The rising steam made Remus' nostrils twitch – why was the redolent aroma of Tonks during the full moon coming from that mug? It took a moment for the former DADA professor to process the thought – and he was moving to intercept, but it was too late. Ron had the mug to his lips and taken a deep gulp –

Fleur Delacour-Weasley was in the same boat as Remus but for different reasons – she'd been about to knock the mug out of Ron's hands when Bill and Charlie's hands on her shoulder stopped her. Her surprised glance at Bill was answered with narrowed eyes … and she understood.

Better to let the thing play out, Fleur realized. Bill and Charlie had been dismayed at her revelation of the potion-laced mug that Molly had been pushing on Harry earlier – they had no choice but to believe her, given her heritage. She was surprised at Molly's nonchalance in serving the tainted tea to Ron – was she so distraught that she didn't remember what she'd done … or did she simply not know anything about it? In that case, it meant that _Ginny_ was on her own.

In any case, Fleur thought, the love potion in the tea which her Veela senses had detected would act as a calming draught, removing Ron's anger and directing it towards the user, whoever it was.

She watched as Ron's eyes glazed and defocused – followed a moment later by a sharpening of his eyes as he stood and looked around the room.

'Here it comes,' both Remus and Fleur thought, as Ron opened his mouth –

"SSSUUUSSSAAANNN! Where are you, Ssuussannn? SSSUUUSSSAAANNN!"

Mouths gaped, eyes bulged – stupefied expressions were the order of the day – until a loud "STUPEFY!" broke their stupor, causing Ron to slump in his seat.

Heads whirled to see Ginny Weasley putting her wand away; she glared at their surprised faces and said, "_WHAT?_ He sounded like a farmer calling his hogs."

Fleur was the only one who caught the note of disappointment, despair and anguish in the small Weasley's voice and her eyes narrowed speculatively as she watched Ginny storm out the Hall. For some reason, the huge doors of the hall chose that moment to activate – slamming open and spilling a large number of DA members into the hall.

All of them took one look at the smallest Weasley and scrambled for safety but Ginny never even gave a sign that she'd noticed them.

The young Frenchwoman looked at the sprawled and scuttling DA members and turned to her husband with a raised eyebrow. "I thought that wid ol' Snake-Face gone, we'd be at peace at last."

She gave a Gallic shrug. "I must 'ave been dreaming."

***

**The Three Broomsticks (Honeymoon Suite)**

"_Is that a pistol in your pocket or are you just glad to see me?_"

Harry heard the words murmured into his chest and felt a red wave of embarrassment rise from his lower body to his head – the flow of blood finally kicking in his stalled higher brain functions – he'd heard those same words in some black-and-white movie on the telly at the Dursley's years ago. He could remember Vernon's roar of laughter – at the time, he wondered what was so funny about it.

He didn't understand then but he sure appreciated the sentiment now – and blinked as he heard the soft sound of Hermione giggling ... a sound so precious to his ears and far too seldom heard in the past months, or was it years?

Hermione's giggling had an unintended effect, however – in that single moment, everything that they'd gone through together crashed into their conscious and unconscious minds and they felt, once again, the comfort level they had with each other in their clothing-optional tent – something they'd both cherished and mourned the loss of when Ron re-joined them...

Slowly, deliberately, he brought his hands to her bare shoulders and gave a slight push – and bit his lip in regret as he felt her arms leave his back as she broke the hug.

He didn't want to do this – he would much rather have her arms around him for a little bit longer but he tamped that thought down – this was not about him, this was about Hermione.

He took a measured step back – and locked eyes with her chocolate-brown orbs when she lifted her face to his. He kept his eyes on hers as he deliberately pulled off the school robes he'd thrown on this morning, shutting his eyes as the cloth passed his face but locking them once again with Hermione as he slowly handed the bunched-up robes to her.

A moment's pause and he realized that Hermione wasn't reaching for the robe – a question was asked and answered, communicated only through their locked eyes and he gave a small smile before reaching up to place the robes over her head. Hermione lowered her head demurely, looking him in the eyes as he let the robe fall soundlessly over her shoulders, covering the warm flesh that he'd been holding only moments before.

For a long moment, the two friends kept their eyes locked and then, with deliberate speed, were back in that familiar pose – arms around each other, hugging tightly; Hermione's head burrowing into Harry's chest as she breathed in deeply; Harry's nose in the wild curls of Hermione's brown hair as he breathed in her scent.

They were silent as they did this, their wrapped arms and close-together bodies communicating a wealth of emotions and thoughts – gratitude that the other was safe; affirmations of friendship and times shared together, both good and bad; a silent commitment to be there for the other, whatever may come.

It was Harry who broke the silent tableau this time, murmuring softly, "Al'righ' there, 'ermione?" in Hagrid's rough, coarse voice – and Hermione giggled, remembering other, less perilous times with their friend, the gentle half-giant.

"Never better," Hermione answered in a small girl's voice – and Harry smiled, remembering their first year and seeing Hermione on the landing above him as he left the Hospital Wing after his encounter with Quirrell.

Hermione couldn't hold back any longer – she let out a loud squeal of joy, unfortunately right into Harry's unprotected ears, and he stumbled back, falling on the waterbed in surprise – his shocked eyes watching in bemusement as Hermione jumped around the room like a demented kangaroo, shouting, "I'M FREE! I'M FREE! I'M NOT MARRIED TO RON! I'M FREE, HARRY, I'M FREE!"

It took Harry a moment to parse that statement and he stared at Hermione with a look of mingled incomprehension and hope on his face. His suddenly dry throat tried to form words; it took several seconds and several coughs before he could respond intelligently – "Huh?"

Hermione didn't hear him; still giggling and jumping around, she grabbed the Ministry's parchment from where it fell and thrust it into his hand before she spun around and continued dancing around the room, unaware that in the dining room below her, people were watching a swaying chandelier with bemusement. The patrons of the Three Broomsticks knew what was over their head – and many could only shake their heads and grin, wondering at the energy and enthusiasm of whichever couple it was 'coupling' above them. Several wizards turned back to their meals with a soft, "Lucky bloke" before continuing to eat.

It took Harry almost a full minute to understand the huge, red 'DENIED' on the Ministry's magical marriage contract – and when comprehension set in, his mind was flooded with questions as to what – and _why_ –and _how –_this had happened. In the next instant, however, he decided that those questions were for some other time ... he felt a wellspring of emotions erupt from within him – emotions powerful enough to release a dozen Patronus – and he jumped to his feet, grabbed Hermione in a fierce hug and started swinging her around.

Hermione's initial surprise at Harry's unexpected move evaporated as she wrapped her arms around his neck and she went with the flow – her happiness at this moment was too intense to even think about. She was free, she was with Harry, she was HAPPY...

Harry couldn't last – his panic of yesterday and the tensions of today, the lack of sleep last night and his inability to eat, to say nothing of two apparent apparitions within minutes of each other – had drawn his stamina down. He set her down carefully, Hermione's arms still around his neck and he tried to step back but she didn't let go…

Their eyes locked for an infinitesimal moment – and in that silent communication that so many had seen and remarked on for years, a moment of clarity was reached –

Apologies were extended, for too many opportunities overlooked and missed, for too many times when courage failed and words were left unspoken. Regrets were given and accepted, for the moments when their trust and loyalty to one another was questioned and doubted. Promises were made that, from this moment on, nothing – and no one – would stand in their way.

They were moving closer together, bodies mere inches from each other – eyes still locked as their faces closed in on the other ... and then their mouths fused, followed quickly by tongues thrusting as they engaged in a battle of attack and retreat, Hermione's hands fisting in Harry's unruly hair while his hands were on her toned backside, pulling her in as if he wanted to immerse himself within her…

It was only the second time they'd ever kissed like this – hungrily, impatiently, enthusiastically – each thrust of tongue and touch of hands an affirmation of the fact that they were together and sharing the same space and time. Like the last time, their feelings for the other were intense – they'd undergone a trial that threatened to tear them apart and once again prevailed…

As their kisses deepened and hands caressed skin that they'd been too shy or too scared to touch before, neither knew or cared that the room had taken on an intense golden glow that lit up their surroundings, turning into an intense, dazzling light for nearly a minute before slowly dissipating…

Neither did they realize that they'd fallen on the water bed and were rolling around as their kisses and caresses grew more passionate, totally unaware that underneath the bed, dust bunnies and other particles were raining down on a reduced-in-size portrait lying face up on the floor, peeking out of a beaded bag that a giggling and unthinking Narcissa Malfoy polyjuiced as Hermione had thrown carelessly under the bed before apparating away to her 'wedding' in Gretna Green.

***

**Portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black (Beneath the Bed in the Three Broomsticks)**

The picture frame that occasionally held the acerbic Phineas Nigellus Black was face up beneath the bed in the Three Broomsticks' honeymoon suite – and had been so since the day before. Unfortunately for Phineas, he'd been sitting in the frame, asleep – he'd taken to hiding out there, rather than spending time in the Head's office, listening to the inane chatter of his colleagues and waiting for the awakening of their newest member – or engaging in a verbal battle with the old coot Dumbledore.

It was the jostling and bumpy ride, punctuated by a somewhat familiar feminine giggle that had shaken him awake – that and landing in this awkward position under a bed only Merlin knows where. He'd tried making sense of it before deciding to visit his 'other' picture frame – talking to the others was better than staring at dust bunnies and the darkness under the bed. The only light in the place came from the gap between the bed's draperies and the floor.

Phineas Nigellus Black had gone back to this painting when Harry Potter disappeared from the Head's office; he needed the peace and quiet to contemplate the situation as well as that of the current 'Head' of House Black.

He'd been deep in thought when his eyes noticed the intense golden glow from outside the bed – a far more intense glow than the one he'd first seen several months before. A wide grin broke out on his face – he hoped that Potter had finally used his head and gone after Granger; he could only hope that the two carried this to its conclusion thus ensuring the continuation of the Ancient and Noble Houses of Potter and Black …especially the House of Black.

The portrait sighed. This was only the second time he'd seen that golden glow in a long life as both living person and magical painting. He knew what that golden glow meant – 'knew' about it as a legend oft talked about but never experienced and felt a pang of regret in his heart …and his mind drifted back to the first time he'd ever seen that golden glow…

It was Christmas Eve, he remembered – and he shuddered as he remembered the noise and chaos of that day which started with a visit to the graves of the young man's parents – and ended with a pitched battle that saw Harry's wand broken as he escaped with Hermione. They'd stumbled into their tent and lain quiet for minutes before stirring and checking each other over … Hermione had bandaged Harry's wounds, crying softly the whole while and apologizing over and over for breaking his wand until Harry placed a finger over Hermione's lips to silence her…

They'd stared at each other for a long moment, eyes locked and silent words being expressed before their faces started pulling together as if pulled by some magnetic force and their lips met, softly, sweetly … eyes closed as they fell into biological or spiritual imperatives and found themselves entangled until a sharp hiss from Harry broke them from their stupor … and they'd broken apart, red-faced and heaving before withdrawing to their respective rooms and trying to sleep.

Phineas had watched all this through the opened bag that Hermione had carelessly thrown to the floor when they'd returned to their tent. He'd been winding himself up for a good rant against the foolish, impetuous teens – but had watched, open-mouthed, as a soft golden glow suffused the pair as they kissed.

It was a phenomenon that he'd heard about but never witnessed and thus, believed to be an old wives tale. He'd never seen anything like it in his 78 years on earth – or even in the 72 years as a portrait in the London home of the Black family where he'd witnessed numerous weddings of family and their friends and he felt a sharp pang of regret.

All those years and he'd never been able to witness the magical manifestation of true love – not during his marriage to Ursula Flint, not once in the magical marriage ceremonies of his children, grandchildren and great-great grandchildren in Grimmauld Place – until two dishevelled, dirty, wounded teens who'd survived another confrontation with the Dark Side showed him otherwise. He'd left the portrait in the bag and made his way back to Hogwarts where he sat in his portrait, pensive and deep in thought – grateful for the silence in the empty room as Snape and the other portraits tried to find some cheer around the castle.

He snorted to himself – why should he have expected to see something like that? Marriages in his family and that of his friends were based on alliances, politics and blood purity – never on that indefinable emotion called 'love'. He wondered then – as he did now – if that phenomenon manifested itself at the weddings of those whose names had been blasted off the family tapestry: his sister Isla, his granddaughter Cedrella – or his great granddaughter Andromeda and her daughter Nymphadora. He wondered briefly if that magical light had manifested itself during the marriage of Nymphadora to the werewolf – and snorted. Possibly – that was, after all, a marriage all too improbable to his well-ordered and pureblood obsessed mind: a Metamorphmagus and werewolf, separated by nearly two decades in age and – from the snatches of conversation he'd overheard while in the bag – overcoming major emotional obstacles along the way.

Phineas Nigellus Black did not believe in marriages made in heaven because he never saw the proof but the evidence was right there – he had to wonder how many he had missed because of his family's stupid insistence on blood purity.

He glanced up and realized that the dust had stopped falling – and the bed had stopped roiling. He shrugged and decided to vacate the premises. Wandering around Hogwarts reliving the glory days of his youth was infinitely better than watching the bottom of the bed, wondering what was going on up there.

He could only hope that the two teens up there got their act together. They'd better bring the House of Black back to its former glory – he was rather tired of being lugged around like a piece of baggage! On the other hand, that had been a better option than sitting around that dark and gloomy house…


	4. Chapter 4

**STANDARD DISCLAIMER: **Harry Potter and related characters are owned and operated by JK Rowling, Scholastic Publications, Warner Bros. and other corporate entities. I'm just having fun with these characters and am not making any money out of it. *sniffle*

Grâce au Malfoys – Part 4

**The Three Broomsticks (Honeymoon Suite) **

It was an idyllic scene – one which had been repeated often in the days alone in the magical tent during the Horcrux hunt. Hermione was seated on the bed, back propped up by pillows, her legs stretched out while Harry was lying on his back, head in her lap, staring at the ceiling, Hermione's fingers running through his soft, unruly hair. Running her fingers through Harry's hair was a comfort to the young witch – her father had often done the same to her when she was little, and a small part of her mind wondered whether Harry was deriving the same sort of comfort from her...

She had just finished telling Harry what had happened to her – not that there was much to tell, since the last thing she remembered was falling asleep in her dorm and then waking up in a strange room with a half-asleep and probably wet-dreaming Ronald Weasley behind her. She wince at the memory – not so much at Ron's behaviour which she could _objectively_ understand but at the fact that, according to Harry, she'd been missing for a whole day.

And in the space of that single day, she had _apparently_ eloped with Ron, _ostensibly_ been married in a muggle ceremony ... and she had been one step away from _murdering_ Ronald Bilius Weasley with her bare hands. And then, finding out that the marriage contract had been rejected by the Ministry of Magic through methods still unclear to her, plus having Harry find her...

Quite a busy 24 hours ... of which only the past two hours or so she'd been awake for.

But it was over now – she was content, relaxed, unmarried and _happy_ ... she closed her eyes contentedly as she continued combing Harry's hair. She heard a soft sigh and peeked down at a similarly relaxed Harry, whose sleepy, rambling voice told her, more than anything else, just how much tension, and fear, and apprehension he'd gone through...

"What now, love?"

Hermione sighed. For a brief moment, she thought that this moment would last forever – but there was no avoiding reality. There were things that had to be done if she was to live a normal life ... and the same held true for Harry. Much as they may wish it, the fact was that if they didn't get moving, things may turn out worse.

She went back to her earlier thought – there was more to this than a simple prank ... too much had been spent in terms of planning, execution and resources. There _had_ to be more to this ... but _what?_

She relayed her thoughts to Harry, who nodded in agreement. He was of the same mind – there _must _be something more to this than causing Hermione and him some inconvenience. In fact, thinking about it, the whole thing was _not_ about causing them 'some' inconvenience ... the _intent_ of the whole thing was clear: to get Hermione and Ron married, in both magical and muggle worlds … which meant that _someone_ did not want Harry and Hermione together.

The question was – who? And more important ... _why?_

Hermione shook her head, and made a move to get off the bed. Reluctantly, Harry sat up and watched with worried eyes as Hermione reached for the dresser where the pictures of the 'wedding' were scattered. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath – picking up those pictures and perusing them was _not_ what she wanted to do right now. She would much rather spend the rest of the day snuggling in bed with Harry, but that wasn't in the cards.

They had to find answers ... and those pictures were the first step in unravelling the mystery.

If only it wasn't so _hard_ to look at those pictures.

Even if she knew that she was not a participant in that farce of a ceremony, even if she _knew_ that she'd been asleep and totally unaware of what had been going on and that someone _else_ had gone through the twice-be-damned farce of a wedding ... it was just so friggin' _hard_ to look.

She nearly jumped when a hand covered hers and gently pulled the pictures away from her. She shot Harry a grateful look and went back to the bed, slumping bonelessly while grabbing a pillow, thinking, _I'm not alone in this anymore._ _Harry's with me now_.

As it was wont to do, her mind started wandering, reviewing the past seven years. If anyone told a young Hermione Granger what the Future had in store, she would have been reaching for her mother's Tazer while calling for the men in white ... her life to this point often sounded like fiction – badly written fiction, at that.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a touch on her shoulder; she blinked and realized that Harry was sitting beside her, a look of combined worry and puzzlement on his face. She raised an eyebrow at him as she sat up – he smiled briefly before handing over the picture in his hand.

Unthinking, she grabbed the picture and looked at it; in the next moment, she wished she hadn't as the events of the day she had no memory of crashed down on her and she felt sick...

The 'Ron' and 'Hermione' in the picture were engaged in an all-out snog – a lip-mashing, tongue-clashing, tonsil-seeking battle which left nothing to the imagination … including a brief glimpse of 'Hermione's' hand deep within 'Ron's' robes … and 'Ron's' right hand fisted in 'Hermione's' brown, bushy hair…

Before she could throw the picture away, Harry's gentle hand on her wrist stopped her; before she could make a move to throw up, Harry's gentle voice forced her to focus as he asked, "What's this?"

Hermione's eyes focused on the spot that Harry was pointing at, and narrowed as her impressive brain power came into play. Harry's finger was pointed at picture 'Ron's' hand where a blurred, darkish _something_ could be seen...

Her first thought was that Rita Skeeter had somehow made it to the 'wedding' but the idea was quickly dismissed. Why should a beetle choose _that_ particular spot for a perch when others were just as available? The thought brought back memories of Viktor pulling at her hair after the second task of the Tri-Wizard, saying, "You haff a water beetle in your hair, Herm-own-ninny."

She shook her head and focused. There was something _wrong_ with that picture ... but she couldn't make out what it was. She was getting frustrated when Harry, who had been looking through the other pictures, asked – "Ron's right-handed, isn't he?"

The question caught her by surprise – yes, Ron was right-handed as were the majority of people on earth, magical and non-magical but ... "Look at this, Hermione," Harry said. "Every picture shows 'Ron' using his _left_ hand..."

Hermione's eyes flicked from picture to picture – and realized Harry was right. _Every_ picture showed Ron's _left_ hand: waving at people, feeding 'Hermione' cake ... even the champagne toast showed the flute in his _left_ hand. 'Ron's' right hand was always hidden away ... in his pocket, apparently scratching at his chest _beneath_ the suit ... even when he was signing the muggle contract, he had his left hand covering the right...

Which brought her thoughts back to the only picture where the _right_ hand could be seen with that dark, blurred _something _... definitely not a beetle ... and a memory from the years of dodging Colin Creevey's camera came to mind: magical cameras didn't have auto-focus. And _that_ meant that the 'thing' was simply out of focus...

Seven years of study covering almost all aspects of magical culture and life came to mind and her eyes narrowed ... she turned to Harry with a triumphant gleam in her eyes.

"Harry!" she said in excitement. "It's a family ring!"

Harry's response was exactly what she should have expected: "Huh?"

***

**Malfoy Mansion**

The three Malfoys were sitting down to an early lunch, after consuming a liquid, champagne-fuelled breakfast. As befitted their stature and social standing, this was in their formal dining room – and the meal was eaten mostly in silence, save for the occasional clink of silver utensils on plates, or a polite "Please pass the salt."

The world as they knew it may have ended outside their walls; the whole wizarding world may well be in feasts or celebrations at the demise of the Dark Lord, but within these walls decorum and etiquette were supreme. Their house may have been used as a headquarters by the Dark Lord; its halls overrun with the riff-raff that they'd had to deal with in his service; their basement may have rung with the screams of torture...

But that was all in the past.

It was _over_.

The time now was for their future.

These thoughts passed through Narcissa Malfoy's mind as she slowly and delicately cut up the kippers on her plate. Working class fare, she thought disdainfully but there was nothing to be done about it now ... it was the best that their remaining house-elf could come up with and she knew she should be thankful for small favours.

She glanced at her companions. Draco was, as usual, eating with all the refinement and manners that had been patiently taught to him since childhood, as the Heir of a Noble House. She sighed; unlike others, the House of Malfoy could only claim the title 'Noble' while the Potters, Blacks, Bones or even the blood-traitor Weasleys claimed the title 'Most Ancient.' And while the Bones were certainly not 'Noble,' the 'Most Ancient' in their title placed them a rung higher on the social ladder than theirs.

She briefly wondered about Susan Bones ... she'd had brief glimpses of the young woman during the final battle at Hogwarts, fighting with an intensity and determination that was frightening to see and awesome to watch ... and wondered if a match could be made between the young lady and her son. Never mind that the Bones' family had long-standing grudges with the Malfoys ... Susan was the last of her line and family must continue.

She shook off the thought – given what had happened to Amelia, she somehow doubted that Susan would be willing to marry Draco, no matter its political desirability. It would be likely that that marriage would last less than a day and Susan would be walking around in widow's weeds the day after ... no, not something to contemplate.

Narcissa glanced at her husband and the sneer on his face at being forced to eat this 'pedestrian' food. No doubt she'd hear about it later – she had to remind her husband not to abuse their remaining house-elf until she had time to buy a few more.

_If_ they had the galleons for it.

She shivered at the thought. This damned war had been a hardship in more ways than one. Lucius' support of the Dark Lord had depleted the Malfoy family coffers ... the problem was, they had an image to protect and they needed a means to bring back their vault to pre-war levels ... or before Lucius started depleting it to payoff politicians like Fudge, Barnabas Cuffe of the Prophet and the network of spies and traitors in the Ministry of Magic...

A flash of light caught her eyes and she grimaced behind the napkin at her lips. If there was a fly in the ointment of an otherwise perfect plan ... _that_ was it.

The Malfoy Family Ring was an ancient artefact, passed down from one Head of House to another magically ... as one Head died, whether by poisoning, battle or duel, the ring would disappear to show up either on the finger of the next Head of House or in the Family vault in Gringotts, in the event no one of age was available to claim the title.

There were also other enchantments on the ring – and the Malfoys, being a proud and vain family for years beyond memory, had ensured that once the ring was on a Head's finger, it would never come off until it had to. The enchantments also ensured that the ring would never be hidden or obscured under disillusionment charms – it was the visible sign of their name and position in society and the Malfoys would be _damned_ if a Head of House would try and hide it.

It was the only possible glitch in an otherwise perfect plan ... a plan, she realized, that she didn't have an inkling about. Like a dutiful wife, she had followed Lucius' lead – he'd wanted to stage that marriage between Weasley and the mudblood and she'd gone along. She shuddered again at the memory – _poor girl_, she thought. _I wonder how she's feeling now when she knows that her 'husband's' physical assets were on the same level as that family's monetary assets: too small to be considered of significance._

The question, however, was _why_? Why take the risk of, literally, _kidnapping_ Granger and Weasley? The fallen wards around the castle made that task easy – slipping into their rooms, casting the sleeping spell, portkeying them to the prepared bedroom in the Shrieking Shack, setting the portkeys in their clothes to bring them to the Three Broomsticks ... all executed with a minimum of fuss and bother.

It smacked of meticulous planning and preparation – not a spur of the moment idea.

She'd anticipated problems in finding witnesses for the muggle ceremony. Weddings in the muggle world between magical people was rare ... even the muggleborn usually opted for a magical wedding – but the procedures for doing so were there.

All they needed were two magical people to witness the ceremony and to sign the muggle wedding contract, after which the papers had to be filed at the Ministry of Magic. _That_ had her worried: where the hell to find – on short notice – two magical witnesses who were comfortable in the muggle world and willing to go along with the farce?

It was a walk in the park.

Literally.

After bringing Weasley and Granger to the Shrieking Shack, they'd polyjuiced themselves as Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, then Lucius/Ron transfigured their robes into hooded cloaks and then they'd apparated to Diagon Alley.

Where they started walking.

Their hooded cloaks kept them anonymous – a good thing, Narcissa realized. Following Lucius' lead, they'd walked around for a bit until she saw a short person man (who reminded her of Professor Flitwick) who exchanged glances with her husband. Lucius/Ron pulled her towards a couple in their twenties who were sunning themselves on a bench near Gringotts.

They'd engaged the couple in conversation; the two were understandably leery of their hooded appearance – until Lucius/Ron pulled back his hood to show his face and red hair and things suddenly turned weird. The two had jumped up and nearly crushed them with bone-breaking hugs, crying, congratulating and talking a mile a minute ... it had taken enormous willpower on their parts to accept the hugs; stealthy casting of Notice-Me-Not charms around them to divert attention from the commotion until they were able to adjourn to a private booth in the Leaky Cauldron for a late breakfast.

It was there where they learned Dick and Jane's story: muggleborn 'Puffs who'd finished Hogwarts in '75 – they'd lived a quiet life in the wizarding world, surviving the first rise of Voldemort and escaping into the Muggle world last year. It had been a hard life – their years in the wizarding world had left them ill-prepared for life as muggles; they'd been nearly caught several times when they'd inadvertently used magic and were literally on their last galleon when the Dark Lord was finally defeated once again by Harry Potter.

It was clear from the awe the two held for their Polyjuiced companions that they held Harry Potter and his friends in extremely high regard – thus, the rib-breaking hugs and squeals of joy at 'accidentally' running into two of their heroes.

And it went swimmingly from there. It was easy to convince the two to help them 'elope' – they were more than honoured to do so, and easily fell for the line that 'Ron' and 'Hermione' wanted to do this quietly and out of the public eye. Questions about Harry were diverted by saying that the Hero of the Wizarding World was still in Hogwarts' hospital wing, recovering ... Lucius/Ron had handed the two a bag of galleons which they exchanged at Gringotts for muggle money; a quick shopping trip in London for muggle clothing to blend in and then Dick and Jane Harper took them by side-along apparition to Gretna Green where – surprisingly enough – the couple themselves had married soon after leaving Hogwarts...

Narcissa smirked – who knew posing as someone else could be such fun? Posing as Weasley was no problem for Lucius – they were both purebloods with little or no experience of the muggle world. She also didn't have a problem – thanks to the summer days she said she spent with Severus but actually had fun with Lily Evans and Severus Snape.

A thought struck her – it wasn't too difficult for Lucius to 'act' like Ronald Weasley because they were alike in many ways. Purebloods who believed in the 'superiority' of magic over mundane technology, they were also both braggarts with a tendency to inflate their own importance beyond their actual contributions.

Draco and others had told stories of how the redheaded idiot constantly boasted about some accomplishment or other, never knowing or caring that others knew or heard the **real** stories behind Sirius' _attacking_ Weasley and the latter fighting him off (Pettigrew had clarified _that_ for them); or helping Potter rescue the hostages in the Tri-Wizard (Draco's friends had detailed _that_ to general amusement) or even his 'exploits' on the Quidditch pitch (although there was room for doubt since Draco was just as big a windbag as Weasley and her husband.

As for Granger ... the Sorting Hat almost put Narcissa in Ravenclaw for a reason, but allowed her to go to Slytherin because her cunning and ambition far outweighed her thirst for knowledge. All she had to do was to allow her intelligence to shine through, try to 'tone down' the 'Weasley's' exuberance fall back on experiences in the muggle world with Lily and she, too was set.

_B_esides, all she needed to do was act flustered and confused because she was anticipating the 'first night' with her 'beloved Ronnie' ... Narcissa shuddered, again wondering how Granger would cope with the reality.

It had gone swimmingly ... the only hitch being the damned Malfoy Family Ring. Mistake number 1 – neither of them thought of conjuring bandages to cover Lucius/Ron's hand before approaching the muggleborn witch and wizard. Mistake number 2 – Lucius/Ron spinning a story about having 'injured' his hand which was why he wasn't using it much. Mistake number 3 – how does a right-handed wizard sigh a marriage contract with an 'injured' hand?

There was no getting around it. Lucius had to sign with _that_ hand – which exposed the ring to the bemused magical witnesses. She saw the panic in Lucius' eyes and stopped him from obliviating them; she'd pulled the two aside and murmured something about 'spoils of war' which the two – thankfully enough – smiled and accepted.

And so here they were ... safe and comfortable in Malfoy Mansion with all evidence of their 'activities' gone for good: the clothes they'd 'borrowed' from the real Weasley and Granger burned; the polyjuice vials Banished and – the final stroke of genius – they'd convinced Dick and Jane to file the muggle marriage contract with the Ministry of Magic, thus avoiding the risk of going in there and encountering someone 'looking' for them.

There was no need for a 'personal appearance' at the Ministry – once filed, the documents (both muggle and magical) would be delivered, as per instructions, to the Three Broomsticks.

Simple plan, perfectly executed ... except for one thing. She _still_ didn't know what it was all about. _WHY_ was it so important to Lucius to stage that elaborate scheme _now? _ It was meticulous planned but totally unrehearsed ... it was only the simplicity of it which allowed for its proper execution with only a minor glitch...

But she still did not know WHY.

Her mental ranting stopped when a soft cough was heard in the silent dining room. Looking up, she saw Draco wiping his mouth with his napkin, apparently done with the meal. When Lucius in turn looked at him, Draco asked, "Father? There is something I would like to ask, if permitted?"

The patriarch of the Malfoy Family nodded regally at which Draco asked, "May I inquire what this" – and he held up their copy of the Daily Prophet, still with the picture of 'Weasley' and 'Granger' trying to tie their tongues into knots – "is all about?"

Lucius was silent, staring at his son for a long moment – to his credit, Draco sat and looked back without flinching until Lucius seemed to relent. With the air of someone cornered into a decision, he slowly asked, "What do you know of the laws of inheritance of House Black?"

***

**The Three Broomsticks (Honeymoon Suite)**

Hermione sighed in frustration; she had a significant clue to their dilemma and – for want of a wand, she couldn't do _anything_ about it.

She'd explained the significance of family rings to Harry – pointing out that Ronald would _not_ have the access or the _authority_ to wear one. Only Arthur of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Weasley could wear it and, on his death or disablement, the ring would pass on to Bill, as the presumptive Heir and Head of House. And if Bill couldn't be the Head of House Weasley, the ring would pass on down to the different brothers ... Ron, being the youngest, would most likely _never_ have a chance to wear the ring.

Which eliminated Ronald and the Weasleys from the list of suspects – even Harry realized that Arthur would never stand for such an underhanded scheme, never mind if Molly 'My Way or the Highway' Weasley was thoroughly convinced that she and Ron _belonged_ together ... urgh!

_That_ was a thought she didn't want to contemplate for long. It was, to Hermione, just another indication that the magical world was nuts.

Sure, there were wondrous, fascinating things about this world ... but contrast those with the terrors and battles that she'd been in with Harry, and one would have to wonder. Add to that the seeming belief of so many people that she and mo-Ron ever had a 'thing' for each other ... it was _insane!_

True, she'd kept her friendship with Ron in the face of the latter's inanities and betrayals ... but only because of Harry. She'd seen the signs early on – Ronald was Harry's first real friend in the magical and muggle worlds, and the fierce loyalty that he had would have kept him protecting the prat, no matter what. There were times early on when she wondered if Harry was gay, finding out that _Ronald_ was the one he would 'miss the most' during the Tri-Wizard had planted that thought in her mind. It was only much later, during their 'alone time' in the tent that she realized that Harry was _not_ into red-headed boys ... it all boiled down to the fact of his fierce loyalty towards his friends and those who had shown kindness to him after ten years of Dursley Prison.

"Hermione?"

Harry's soft voice shook her out of her mental rant and she focused on the task at hand. There was a spell that would adjust the focus of the magical picture to allow them to see what it was – knowing Colin Creevey, rest his soul, did have some compensation, after all.

The problem was, she didn't have a wand ... and she turned apologetic eyes to Harry as she explained this. With a sigh, she turned back to the picture and the problem, only half-hearing Harry say, "Here – I'm giving you this wand," and automatically reaching out for it –

And her world turned black.

For a long, dizzying moment, alien memories assaulted her – brief flashes of people, seemingly from all walks of life and from several different centuries ... with violence, deceit and conflict marking each and every memory: a burly, drunken man stabbed in his sleep while his shadowy assailant faded away ... a bearded man crying in a cellar as the life slipped away from him ... a bloody battlefield with a man standing all alone, hysterically laughing as he held something high in one hand ... a young man with long blonde hair laughing madly as he leaped out a window ... a spectacular duel between Dumbledore and the blonde man ... Voldemort casting _Avada Kedavra_ ... and she realized what she had in her hand.

She turned huge, shocked eyes to Harry, who was looking at her with a look of mingled bemusement, fear and ... was that love on his face? She could only stutter as she tried to open her fingers to drop the wand but they wouldn't respond...

Harry Potter was looking back at her calmly, holding on to the fear he felt with an iron will. He wasn't sure what would happen when he gave Hermione the wand ... there was only one thing on his mind when she mentioned her lack of a wand – that it was time to pass it on, to the only person he had absolute trust in.

The only person he felt absolute love for.

In that moment between the decision to give the wand away and the action of turning it over, he felt a resistance – no, more of a seeming _reluctance _– from the Elder Wand, to be followed by acceptance ... of surrender. It felt to Harry, in that singular moment, that the wand had resigned itself to its fate ... but within that apparent agreement was a profound sense of relief, almost as if the wand was more than eager to bond with a new master.

Harry sensed that the wand was looking forward to bonding with its new master – especially since _this_ bond was coming from trust and love, friendship and bravery rather than the deceit, violence and capture that had accompanied it throughout its long 'life'.

Harry had to close his eyes as a dazzling lightshow exploded around Hermione – red and gold lights mingled with the colours of the rainbow seemed to leak through his closed lids. He didn't know how long it lasted ... he only opened his eyes when he heard Hermione's stuttering words: "Ha...Ha...Harry! Th...thi...this..."

"The Elder Wand." He sighed at the look of abject fear and loathing he saw in Hermione's chocolate-brown eyes and he laid a gentle hand on her mouth before she could protest or react.

"It's yours, Hermione. I'm _giving_ it to you." The look of fear in her eyes was replaced by surprise as he continued, "You're the only one I trust _absolutely_ with that wand, Hermione. You'll never use it for evil, you'll never use it in anger ... you'll never use it in battle ... well, probably not. You will always use it in defence of your friends and your beliefs ... but never for evil. Of that I am sure.

"You're too good of a person to turn Dark, Hermione. You're the only one I can absolutely trust to use the Elder Wand for good."

"But Harry..."

He held a hand up and she fell silent. "Who's to know that _that_ is the Wand of Destiny, Hermione? Luna's father said it – the wand has been lost to history. Others like him may keep searching for the Hallows but what do they have as a lead to chase after? Grindelwald is dead ... Voldemort is dead ... Dumbledore was the last one of that crowd to know where the wand ended up with."

"But Ron –"

" … knows that I placed the wand in Dumbledore's tomb. Only you and I know that I gave it to you ... I trust you won't go around proclaiming to everyone what you have?" The last was said in a teasing tone and he smiled as Hermione tried to punch his shoulder. He knew her that well, his best friend and his love, and knew the wand would be in safe hands.

Hermione's eyes locked with him for a long moment before she nodded her head in acceptance. She could understand why he did it and she knew the reason why he chose her and not Ron. Unbidden, the memory of Ron's look of longing when Harry informed them of his decision regarding the wand came to mind. There would always be a seed of doubt regarding Ron ... no matter the years of friendship or his role in Voldemort's defeat, there would always be that question in his mind: what if _he_ were the wielder of the Elder Wand?

She remembered Harry telling her about the Mirror of Erised and how, when all he could see were the images of his dead family, Ron's desires were clear: fame, fortune and recognition. Add to that his blinding envy during their fourth year and his abandonment of them last year ... She shook her head. Harry was right, she knew. The knowledge of where the wand was hidden could become an unbearable temptation to Ron – maybe not now, maybe not in ten or twenty years, maybe never ... but could they take the risk?

A sudden thought struck her and she spoke, "Harry! You're just _giving_ me the wand? But –"

Harry held a hand up, stopping her. "You're supposed to 'win' the wand, right?" Hermione nodded, and Harry sighed. "Maybe ... but then again, no one ever had the chance to pass the wand on, to give it to someone else from their own choice and free will? From the day Antioch Peverell was first given the wand, there has only been one thing on people's minds – they needed to _own_ it, and didn't care if they killed or maimed to do it.

"Even Dumbledore bought into the legend. Rather than just _giving_ the wand to whoever would make the best use of it – and it didn't even have to be me! He could have given it to Minerva or Flitwick, Remus or Tonks but no! He had to set up some intricate plot to die as the Master of the Wand only for Draco to defeat him ... and then Snape supposedly 'beat' Dumbledore – which set up Snape for Voldemort because Tom thought Snape was the new Master of the Wand!"

Harry was breathing heavily; Hermione grabbed him and held him tight, shutting off his rant and helping him calm down. "The Wand was never given a chance by its past Masters to be passed on, Hermione. Even Antioch, the first master, thought nothing of bragging and brawling because of his 'unbeatable' wand ... he never even thought that it was not the wand that was unbeatable but the witch or wizard who wielded the wand."

He pulled away slightly to look Hermione in the eye. "_You_ are an unbeatable witch, Hermione ... without you, I would have been dead a long time ago. I trust you, Hermione ..."

No words needed to be said; without a thought, she rose on tiptoes and kissed him lightly on the lips to which Harry responded with a rib-breaking hug that she gladly reciprocated...

An indeterminate time later, they broke apart. Harry had a silly grin on his face, matched only by Hermione's smile – but the grin on Harry's face dimmed as a serious look came over his face.

Stepping away from the frowning Hermione, he said, "Oh, are you doing magic? Let's see it, then."

For the briefest of moments, Hermione gaped – and grinned. Those were almost the first words she'd said to Harry, all those years ago. With a flourish, she pointed the wand at the pillow on the bed and incanted, "Sunshine , daisies, butter mellow, Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow."

The two of them jumped as a yellow beam shot out of the wand which hit the pillow, turned it into a pure yellow rat which blinked and jumped, scampering beneath the bed and out of sight.

"Woah!" Hermione breathed. It was meant to be a joke but it seemed that the wand was in no mood for jokes. She blinked owlishly at Harry when he intoned, "It seems that the wand has chosen a new master, Miss Granger."

"That's mistress to you, Potter."

They stared at each other for a moment before dissolving into laughter ... soon enough, they sobered and confronted their problem once again. Hermione took a deep breath – 'There will be no silly wand-waving this time,' she thought and with a silent incantation, gave a jab at the magical photo in question.

A moment later, they were both studying the ring – a rather massive, gaudy ring formed by two snarling, golden snakes inlaid with green, entwined and supporting a large, green stone with etched snakes on its face. They stared at the ring for a long, silent moment – broken only by Hermione's sibilant hiss: "Malfoy! It's the Malfoy Family crest!"

The revelation caught Harry by surprise. "Malfoy? What the hell do they have to do with all this?"

He paused and cocked an eyebrow at her. "And _how_ do _you_ know about _that_?"

***

**Malfoy Manor**

To say that mother and son were gobsmacked was putting it mildly. They'd both worked out a dozen or more different scenarios in their minds as to why Lucius spent precious time and treasure to pull an elaborate prank on Potter. Lucius' seeming _non sequitur_ of a response set their minds spinning.

For Narcissa Malfoy _nee _Black, the shock was fleeting – her mind quickly went to work putting possible scenarios together and within seconds, a plausible explanation had formed and _that_ caused her to stare at her husband in shock, wondering why her warm blood had turned into ice as she fought a shiver of fear from climbing to her brain. There was only one reason she could think of that would connect the inheritance laws of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black, of which her son Draco was the last living _male _relative-by-blood, to Harry Frigging Potter...

There was only one _plausible_ reason why Lucius Malfoy would concoct and implement such an elaborate scheme as the 'prank' he'd pulled on Potter – and the very thought of it made her choke. No matter the utter simplicity and singular brilliance of the plan and the ease of its execution, the fact remained – it was _Lucius Bloody Malfoy who'd developed, planned and executed it!_

Lucius was the perfect Slytherin in most people's eyes – what very few realized (Narcissa and Snape being two of them) was that Lucius Malfoy's ambitions far outstripped his cunning by a magnitude of 10, or even 20, to 1 …

In that, Draco was truly his father's son.

And he proceeded to prove the fact by asking, with all the pureblooded arrogance that even a year in hell couldn't destroy: "What does _Potty_ have to do with the House of Black?"

Two sets of ice-cold eyes were trained on him and he cringed; both were looking at him as if he were something that had crawled out from a pile of dung, as Lucius answered: "Potter is now the Lord Black, Head of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black."

Narcissa slumped in her chair; Lucius' words had confirmed her worst fears. Potter was the Lord Black, Head of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black – and her _fool_ of a husband had involved _her_ in some _idiotic _scheme to meddle with the inheritance!

She jumped at a sudden sniggering in the silent room – she stared wide-eyed at her son who was giggling in his chair as he said, "That's a good one, Father. Potty as Lord Black?"

Lucius was on his feet: "THAT MANGY MUTT SIRIUS BLACK NAMED HARRY FUCKING POTTER AS HIS HEIR – AND TO MAKE SURE **NO ONE** COULD CONTEST IT, THEY PERFORMED A BLOOD ADOPTION IN CHRISTMAS 1995!"

"So?" The word was laced with all the haughtiness of a hundred years of Malfoy snobbery and Draco Lucius Malfoy turned his nose up in the air. "Aunt Bella _assured_ me that I will be the next Lord Black ... as soon as the war was over, she said, the goblins would be in touch with me..."

"YOU IMBECILE!" Lucius roared, his face red and nostrils flaring, eyes shooting sparks at his oblivious son. "BELLA KNOWS NOTHING OF THE INHERITANCE LAWS OF HOUSE BLACK AND YOU LISTENED TO HER?"

His voice dropped to a whisper as he collapsed in his chair, fingers rubbing the sides of his head, "I have sired an ignoramus."

Narcissa decided to step in; she couldn't take this anymore. "Use your head, Draco!" she snapped. "The goblins are supposed to inform you of your accession to Lord Black when you turned seventeen – you're nearly eighteen now. What in Hades do you think that means?"

It was obvious that this had never occurred to Draco – and Narcissa had to wonder whether his time with the Dark Lord had addled his brain as he replied, haltingly, "I … I thought, because of the war…"

"Fool," hissed Narcissa, who was now rubbing the sides of his head in perfect synchronization with her husband. "You came of age in June when the Dark Lord had not even made his move on the Ministry … what _war_ are you talking about?"

The Scion of House Malfoy sat silent, mouth flopping open as he tried to say something but couldn't.

"Draco," Narcissa intervened, trying to salvage the situation. "The Black inheritance is _not_ automatic – it is not granted simply because you're 'next in line' by blood. There are codicils that have to be met to gain the title of Lord Black and Head of House."

"Bu…Bu…But," Draco swallowed convulsively, a look of panic on his face. "I thought … I assumed…"

"You assumed." Lucius voice dripped utter contempt as he stared at his son. "Better _men_ than you have died because they _assumed_ … the Dark Lord is _dead_ because he _assumed_ he was better than Potter."

"That's not _fair_."

Lucius snorted and turned to his wife who was staring at him with a cold intensity that almost made him gulp in fear but he held her gaze without flinching. He had committed his family to this course of action – "Desperate times call for desperate measures," he thought … involving his wife in this particular scheme would ensure that his back was protected. She may have been born a Black for whom family is everything – but she was a Malfoy now and would be till the end of time.

Behind her cold gaze, Narcissa contemplated her husband and his recent actuations – especially the surprising and sudden shift of his loyalties. He'd been among the most loyal of the Dark Lord's followers and been among the first to come running when Voldemort was resurrected in '95 ... even after he'd been in Azkaban for a year after the disastrous battle in the Department of Mysteries in '96, he'd loudly proclaimed his loyalty to his Lord ... Until June 1997 when Draco turned seventeen and considered of age in the magical world. Soon after, Lucius started changing in various small ways: showing more affection towards her, expressing concern and worry about Draco in Hogwarts … spending more time in the kitchen or his rooms rather than gallivanting around ... his quiet 'rebellion' against the Master he'd served for so long…

The light dawned and she could only shake her head mentally at the sheer audacity of the man she'd married. Of _course_ he'd be worried for the safety of his son – _Draco was his meal ticket!_

Draco was the last Black by blood … lose Draco and the Black coffers go into limbo – actually, into the vaults of the Goblins from which they would never emerge. There would be no retrieving them in the near future without Draco … not unless her Teddy – Nymphadora's son by that werewolf – could lay claim to the Black title as the last male of that line … good luck to that! Besides, that would be sixteen years away…

Lucius and Narcissa were so lost in their thoughts that neither one heard Draco's agitated mumbling as the earlier discussions finally began to sink in: "_It's not fair … it's not fair … Potty the Lord Black? The cheating, scar-headed half-blood is not worthy …_" His mind was soon lost in a red haze of hate for all the times he'd _suffered_ at the hands of Potty and his friends ... from that first year when Potty refused to accept his hand in friendship – an outright insult to the Pureblood Prince of Slytherin ... to losing the Snitch to Potty every time they met on the Quidditch pitch ... the feel of the mudblood's palm on his face when she slapped him in third year ... Potter's and the Weasley Twins' fists as they beat him up in fifth...

His parents were jarred out of their thoughts by his fists slamming the table, causing the cutlery to jump to his feral roar: "_THAT BLOODY POTTER STOLE MY INHERITANCE? I'LL CHALLENGE HIM TO A DUEL FOR THE HEAD OF HOUSE..."_

_SLAP! _Draco fell back in his chair, shocked as his ears rang, one hand holding his cheek where his mother had slapped him. He blinked and looked up to see his father's red face and angry eyes burning into his as the older man shouted, "YOU FOOL! You want to _challenge_ the boy who duelled the Dark Lord TWICE in my sight, DEFEATED him both times and KILLED THE DARK LORD? Are you Slytherin or Gryffindor? He's already BEAT YOU UP and you keep coming back for more!"

Narcissa spoke, her calm but ice-cold voice in contrast to Lucius' heated roar but with words that stabbed right at the heart and ego of her son: "And what happens if you challenge and lose, Draco? Under the By-Laws of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, a challenger to the Head of House who loses the duel is guilty of attempted assassination. There can be no appeal since that is a Family affair ... and the Head of House has the right to impose any sanction he wishes.

"Up to and including your beheading with a dull sword."

Lucius looked at her in surprise. He wasn't aware that she was familiar with the laws of House Black; Narcissa caught his surprised look and glared. "I may have married you, Lucius," she said coldly, "but I am well aware of the family laws that govern _my_ House."

"Beheading with a dull sword," Lucius repeated, using this as a chance to divert Narcissa's attention from him. "You'll be another Nearly-Headless Nick, Draco. Rather appropriate ... you've been acting more like a bloody _Gryffindor_ than a Slytherin lately."

Draco's normally pale face turned dark red at the rebuke and outright insult from his sire. Before he could try to respond, the sharp _CRACK!_ of an open palm striking the table made the Malfoy males sit and gape at Narcissa Malfoy _nee _Black.

"Enough!" Narcissa had no need to shout – the sheer malevolence in her voice, almost as if she were channelling Bellatrix Lestrange – fuelled by her anger at her husband for stupidly involving her in his schemes, and at her son for his imbecilic stupidity – made every syllable she enunciated clearly audible to the two clueless males. "Lucius, can you please explain to our _son_ just exactly _what_ you've done and _why?"_

Lucius Malfoy was about to answer when he stopped and scowled. Her family may be higher in the social and blood purity ladder than his but she was still his _wife_ and she did _not_ wear the pants in this family! His response to her was frigidly cold albeit with impeccable courtesy: "Perhaps you can explain the matter to our son, Lady _Malfoy?_"

The subtle emphasis on her title and married name broke Narcissa out of her funk – she was the _wife_ of the man across from her and, as such, subject to his authority and commands. Not that it would protect her if something goes wrong with his scheme ... She took a deep, cleansing breath and released it, before focusing her ice-cold blue eyes on her son and began.

***

**The Three Broomsticks (Honeymoon Suite)**

Hermione Granger sat in the middle of the huge waterbed, knees pulled up to her chest, chin resting on knees, arms around her legs, her borrowed school robe demurely wrapped around her. She watched an agitated Harry Potter pacing around the room, hands waving around wildly but saying nothing distinct – mumbles, whispered fragments of words were all she could hear.

She sighed as the lines from some muggle commercial or addy came to mind: "It's not a career – it's an adventure."

Dealing with Harry Potter, she realized, was _both_ a career and an adventure. She'd reflected earlier that Harry's upbringing had left him woefully unprepared for dealing with the magical world; now, she realized that even six years of a Hogwarts education left him unawares of so many things in this world.

Add to that the fact that his mind was a continuing minefield of past traumas, heartaches and psychic damage ... dealing with Harry promised to be both career and adventure.

She was looking forward to the challenge.

Hermione thought back to Harry's reaction to her knowledge of the Malfoy Family Crest. Her first reaction to that was defensive – until she realized that he was genuinely curious about how she knew and not, as she first thought, suspicious of her for whatever reason.

She could only sigh as she remembered that particular conversation ...

***** FLASHBACK*****

"Oh, Harry," Hermione sighed in resignation at Harry's suspicious look and even more sceptical question. "It was during the Yule Ball in our fourth year …"

"I don't remember much of that," Harry responded in a peeved tone. "What I do remember is kicking myself again and again for not having asked the most beautiful girl in the school to the ball before she'd agreed to go with someone else …"

"Still mooning over Cho, Harry?" She asked in a light voice. She still had bad memories of that night – especially the blazing row she'd had with Ron which ruined one of the best nights of her life –

"I was thinking about you, Hermione." The response blindsided the bushy-haired witch and she watched, open mouthed, as Harry continued, a far-off look on his face. "There we were, waiting at the entrance to the Great Hall and I was so nervous that I can't think of anything except to pray that I wouldn't make an ass of myself in front of all those people …I didn't want to look at Cho and Cedric … I was too embarrassed over Roger Davies drooling all over Fleur … I was scared of stepping on Padma's toes … and then I saw this beautiful girl in a periwinkle-blue dress with the most enchanting smile on her face beside Krum…"

'_Move, brain!' _Hermione screamed inside her head. '_Say something, ANYTHING!' _

She did: "You remember the colour of my dress?"

She would have slapped herself silly if Harry hadn't grabbed her hands. She looked into his eyes and fell silent at the hard glare in his eyes. "I remember everything about you, Hermione," he said in a soft voice. "_Everything_," he emphasized, staring at her and Hermione was held powerless in the grip of his gaze.

"Last night," he paused to take a breath, "I couldn't sleep, wondering where you were and what had happened to you and I realized that I was living my worst nightmare. I was afraid that something happened to you and I would never be able to speak with you again ... never be able to apologize for every wrong that I have ever done to you … for every moment that you've been with me and I ignored you…"

There was only one way to stop the downward spiral of Harry's thoughts – she grabbed his hair in both hands and pulled him to her lips. Inadvertently and without realizing it, Hermione's borrowed school robes fell open and it was her naked, flushed skin that Harry could feel through the thin cotton of his shirt and the thick cloth of his jeans.

And again, his higher brain functions shut down – everything in his mind and soul were focused on the area where his lips were fused to Hermione's although a distant part of his brain was waving a red flag, telling his lower brain to send some blood up higher before he passed out from the intensity of his emotions …

Dimly, Hermione could hear her brain begging for oxygen but threw the thought off – as far as she was concerned, there was nothing wrong with blood rushing to key points of her body … her chest, the region between her thighs, her head … her tongue …

Unknown to the two of them, a rather large afternoon crowd was in the dining room of the Three Broomsticks, directly below them … all of the people watching in awe as the chandelier above their heads swayed dangerously … dust motes dropping from the massive screws holding the chandelier in place …

Back in their suite, survival instincts finally kicked into place – brains needed oxygen to survive and function – and how can the body receive any air when mouths were fused and tongues were blocking the other's throats … With an audible pop, the witch and the wizard separated – both breathing hard as bodies starved for oxygen greedily sucked in air …

In the room below them, a soft breeze passed as breaths were released as people realized that the swaying chandelier had ceased its gyrations. Unbeknown to the patrons of the Three Broomsticks, a single thought was in all their minds, albeit divided by gender lines: "Lucky bastard," thought the men. "Lucky witch," thought the women.

Harry and Hermione were leaning against each other, drawing strength from the simple act. As their breathing settled down and blood was pumping normally to where it was supposed to go, Harry asked, "What were we talking about?"

Hermione's first thought was to say, "Less talk, more snog" but her rational side admonished her, telling her that there was time enough for more snogs (and more) later ... once this mystery was solved. Reluctantly, she pulled away, concentrated ... and frowned.

She couldn't remember what they'd been talking about earlier ... something about the Yule Ball? No ... it was something about her clothes ... nu-uh, she was sure it was about Harry apologizing for something he did or didn't do...

"Hermione?" She shook her head violently; try as she might, she just _couldn't_ remember what they'd been talking about ... and shrugged her shoulders and blinked as she felt the cloth of her borrowed robe fall to the floor.

She heard Harry's voice squeak and turned to him, an eyebrow cocked and a look which Harry correctly interpreted as 'So? You've seen me like this before ... what's the problem?' She watched Harry's face turn beet-red and smirked ... deliberately, she stepped closer to him and hugged him tightly, smiling as she felt his arms snake around her and begin rubbing her back in a comforting manner.

As the two friends relaxed in the other's arms, Hermione's brain finally kicked into gear. Softly, she said from her position on Harry's chest, "The Family crest, Harry ... it is worn on the left breast of your formal or dress robes. Malfoy had his Family crest on his robes ... so did the others – Greengrass and Zabini, Susan Bones, Hannah Abbot and Ernie Macmillan. Ginny and Neville also ... I don't know about Ron ..."

"He didn't," Harry replied. "There was something on his robes but he tore it off, saying something about not adding to his family's shame by wearing 'it' – whatever 'it' was." A thought struck him –

"Hermione?" When he felt her nod against his chest, he continued, "You said that the Family Crest is supposed to be worn with formal or dress robes, right?"

"Of course. It is a means of identifying you to other people, especially in large, formal occasions where the chances are high of meeting up with someone you don't know. Also, the Family Crest sort of establishes where you are in the social register..."

Harry interrupted her before the lecture could get completely underway: "So why wasn't the Potter Family Crest on my robes? For that matter ... do I even _have_ a Family Crest?"

***** END FLASHBACK*****

And _that_ effectively killed the mood.

Harry sighed and stopped his pacing – _this_ was getting them nowhere fast. He'd had the idea, in one of those idyllic moments in their magical tent, that when Old Snake-Face was dead and in the ground, that his life would return to normal ... or what counted for as 'normal' in this world.

No more Dark Lord after him, no more need to study curses, hexes and jinxes without number, just a nice, normal, quiet life with the woman in his arms. They'd have a small cottage somewhere and they'd lead the typical lives of busy people – up in the morning and snog, breakfast and shower then snog, off to work and then meet up for lunch and then snog...

But no ... oh, no. It seemed that as soon as one mystery in his life was solved, another one would pop up to bite him on the ass.

Unconsciously he rubbed his posterior – the action drawing Hermione's attention and making her raise her eyebrows. For some reason, she caught a mental image of a snake biting him there – 'lucky snake', she thought before mentally slapping herself for that Freudian slip. She had to do _something_, she thought ... she was, after all, the brains of this operation ... and Harry was, at the moment, a bit too agitated to think clearly.

All right, she thought, first things first ... the absence of the Potter Family crest. She was sure they had one – they were, after all, one of the "Noble and Most Ancient" Families in the wizarding world. Harry's dress robes _not_ having the crest was nothing short of criminal ... from one perspective, the Yule Ball could be seen as Harry Potter's 'coming out' party, the first _real_ time that he would be at the centre of the stage: Boy-Who-Lived, Slayer-of-Basilisk, Tri-Wizard Champion, Last Scion of the Most Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter.

So why did he come to the Yule Ball with an 'ordinary' set of dress robes – no Family Crest, no decorations or anything ... Hell, Hermione thought, the Magical Government should have _at least_ given him a couple of Orders of Merlin First Class – first for defeating Voldemort as a baby, next for defeating You-Know-Who at Hogwarts, another for slaying the basilisk which had already petrified several students – and killed Moaning Myrtle.

The thought came back to her – the magical world was _nuts!_

Unless there was something here they were all missing ... simply because every _freaking_ year for the past seven years, Harry was always getting tossed into some life-or-death scenario where he was forced to sink or swim ... and where were the _adults_ when they needed them?

Hermione frowned. And that was another thing ... six years at Hogwarts with most of the teachers saying they knew the Potters at school – one of them even being their schoolmate and close friend – and not one of them telling Harry stories about his parents? Except for the album that Hagrid gave him before he left for school that first year, all the information he'd had about his parents were innuendo (Snape) or overheard conversations (McGonnagall, Flitwick, Hagrid and Fudge in the Three Broomsticks) ... only Sirius had been more than happy to talk about his best friends during their stay at Grimmauld Place, but even those occasions were few and far between – Molly Weasley kept interrupting the 'bonding sessions' between Harry and his godfather by assigning them chores ...

Just what the hell was going on?

"Hermione?"

She looked up into his worried face and couldn't stop herself – she reached up and hugged him tightly, burying her face in his chest, striving for the comfort she always found in his arms. As he was wont to do now, he hugged her back – not saying a word, just rubbing her back comfortingly until she was ready to tell him what was bothering her.

After a few minutes to compose herself, she started talking – and Harry just sat back and listened, frowning as she made her points. When she'd finally exhausted herself, Harry looked away and raked his hair with his fingers, sighing in frustration.

"I've never really thought about it that way, Hermione ... it seems that every year since I came to Hogwarts, it's always one adventure after another and then I go on to the Dursleys where simply getting through the days is another adventure. I –" He paused to smile at her. "_We_ never seem to be able to find time to breathe, really breathe ... and think about what's going on."

"I know, Harry."

Silence fell between the two friends – only to be interrupted by a low rumbling coming from two empty stomachs. Surprised, they looked at each other before dissolving into laughter, the pensive mood surrounding them broken. Hermione looked around and grimaced ... she'd checked the icebox earlier and found – to her amusement and frustration – champagne, oysters and a selection of fruits (especially bananas) plus chocolate syrup in there. Typical honeymoon fare, she thought ... but not exactly what they needed right now.

Harry had completely agreed with her ... he felt the oysters were slimy, the fruits reminded him of Dudley and his diet, champagne would get him drunk and chocolate syrup ... he wasn't sure what to make of _that_.

And then an absolutely brilliant idea hit her and she jumped up in glee, catching Harry by surprise and making him fall on the bed. "Harry! I've got an idea ... we need information, right? We need to know just what the hell the Malfoys are up to, as well as why this –" she held up the Magical Marriage Contract with its bright red letters spelling 'DENIED' – "has happened, right?"

Harry nodded at her, a lopsided grin on his face at her enthusiasm. He had a feeling he knew where this was going and – while not exactly what he wanted to do, he was always willing to indulge her.

"I think we should go..."

"To the library."

"Huh?"

Harry looked at her, puzzled – an expression mirrored on her face. It took her a moment to understand what he said – and she playfully hit him on the shoulder as she said, "NO, you prat! Why go to the library when there's a better place where we can go to?"

"And that is?"

"The Ministry, Harry! There's got to be someone there who can tell us what happened with this –" Again, she brandished the magical contract – "as well as Tonks or some Auror who can advise us on what to do about the Malfoys."

A slow grin appeared on Harry's face. "I've got an even better idea, Hermione. Let's talk to Kingsley."

Hermione's puzzled look lasted for a bare second before matching the grin on his face. "Of course! He's the Minister of Magic now ... if anyone can open doors for us, and provide us with help, it would be Kingsley!"

She pulled him to his feet and prepared herself to Disapparate them when Harry stopped her – "Uhm, Hermione ... do you think it would be a wise idea to go visiting Kingsley like this?" He pointed to his dishevelled clothes and to her school robe and bare feet.

"Oh. I don't have any other clothes …"

"Hem. Hem."

It took only one glance for Hermione to read Harry's thoughts – 'Are you a witch or not?' She blinked and smiled and, with waves and flourishes of her wand, she transfigured the bed sheets into grey hooded cloaks, cast Obscuring Charms on the hoods so they wouldn't be recognized and wove Notice-Me-Not Charms into the cloaks themselves.

They checked each other over and were satisfied; Hermione gave Harry a tight hug and with a single thought, he apparated them to the Leaky Cauldron.

Beneath the bed, Phineas Nigellus Black was cursing a large yellow furball that had somehow fallen asleep on his face.

***

**Malfoy Manor**

"It is obvious you're labouring under a misconception, Draco," Narcissa began. "Accession to the title of Head of House is not an automatic occurrence. Laws of inheritance – many of them formulated centuries ago – have been established to ensure the peaceful transition of title from one member to another. It can be as simple as those for the Potter or Bones families; in any case, since Harry Potter and Susan Bones are the last of their line, they only need to present themselves at Gringotts, take the requisite blood test to prove their line and they can receive their family rings making them Head of their House.

"Also, in both cases, Head of House is not limited to the male line – women have been Head of House in both cases, the most recent being Amelia Bones.

"The Black Family, however, has a different protocol for accession to the title. First of all, the Black Family is patriarchal by law – only males can become head of house. Secondly, blood purity is not a concern – yes, I know," she said quickly, stopping Draco's incipient protest. "_Toujours Pur _and all that crap ... that started less than a hundred years ago with your great-grandfather Arcturus Black. He'd been exceedingly proud that _his_ branch of the family had no blood traitors within their ranks ... until my cousin, Sirius Black, that is.

"But I digress.

"There are three codicils or riders on the inheritance laws of the House of Black; the first two which must be met in order to gain the title, and the last which makes the title permanent. All three codicils are interlinked, as you will see.

"First, you must be of age in the wizarding world before you can gain the title – there is no way around this rule. In the the designated Heir is underage or unable to gain the title, it is held vacant until such time as the rightful heir is of age and can meet the terms of the second codicil."

She paused for questions; seeing none, she continued, "Second, you must be a resident at the Ancestral Black Family Manor. Once the Heir is in residence, ownership of the property transfers to him and this activates the inheritance. It used to be that the goblins were required to go to the House and present the Family Ring to the new Lord Black but that was changed by agreement with the goblins sometime in the mid-1800s, I believe."

"It was during the time of Phineas Nigellus Black," Lucius intoned from his seat. "The goblins argued that for them – a separate magical nation with their own government – to go there to present the ring implied that they were a vassal nation to the Lord Black." He raised a hand before Draco could ask. "It was imposed on Phineas by the Ministry of Magic – the goblins pointed out that if _they_ were seen as a vassal nation, what did that make the Ministry?"

Draco nodded his understanding, and Narcissa continued.

"The final codicil was imposed to ensure the continuation of the Black Family, no matter what. Within a year of gaining the title of Lord Black, the Head of House must either marry or name an Heir. If he chooses to marry, he is given five years to sire an Heir for House Black. If he chooses not to marry within the prescriptive period, he must name an Heir before the year is up. If he doesn't, the Family magic will strip him of the title, and it will then pass on to the next in line who must also meet the previous two codicils."

Silence descended on the room as the elder Malfoys watching the younger as he processed the information. Eventually, Draco looked up. "I thought that Sirius Black was disowned from the family ... Aunt Bella told me that his name had been struck from the Family Tapestry, so how did he become Lord Black?"

Lucius turned to Narcissa who, in turn, sighed. "The Black Family laws ... once a Head of House is named, it cannot be withdrawn. Heirs can be changed or removed; a Head of House is the Head of House until he dies or is stripped of the title for violating family law."

She shook her head. "Your great-grandfather Arcturus Black designated Uncle Orion – Sirius' father –

as head of house in ... '65, I think. Anyway, Sirius was the designated Heir, being the eldest, until he was disowned in '76 and was replaced by cousin Regulus. Unfortunately, my father, Uncle Orion and cousin Regulus all died in '79 leaving the family without both a Head of House and an Heir. Being the last Black, the title went to Sirius. Unfortunately, he couldn't claim the title since he couldn't enter the Black Family Manor while both Grandfather Arcturus and Aunt Walburga were alive ... with Arcturus' death in 1991 and Walburga dying earlier, the way was cleared for Sirius to take the title.

"But Sirius Black has been missing since '93, when he escaped from Azkaban..." Draco trailed off, thinking and continued before his mother could respond. "Oh ... he must have holed up in the Black Family Manor, then."

"Close, Draco," Lucius responded. "No one knows where he went when he escaped from Azkaban in '93 until Severus told us that he was back in London at Black Manor in '95. That would be when he activated his inheritance ... and then he named Potter as his Heir and performed the Blood Adoption Ritual in Christmas of that year."

Draco nodded slowly. His father's schemes were slowly coming into focus and he clamped down on his incipient resentment at the stupid protocols that had denied him his inheritance. There was nothing to be done about that ... he knew _that _much. Old magic governed the Ancient Families – he would be going against them at his peril. Given this, he had to acknowledge his earlier stupidity at even thinking of challenging Scarhead to a duel.

What chance would he have, really, of beating The Chosen One in a duel – one where he would have absolutely no chance of turning the odds in his favour (calling it 'cheating' was so _pedestrian_).

Having Potter killed was out of the question – _no one _would be willing to test his mettle ... besides, any move against Scarhead would launch an investigation which may bring all this into the open …what fun would being Lord Black have if one spent it in prison?

When you think about it – and his mother slapping him had done the job, for which he'd thank her later – his father's scheme made sense. Having Granger and the Weasel 'elope' would break up the Golden Trio and remove Granger from the board…

Draco frowned. Potter had never been with Granger. In fact, he was with the youngest Weasel last year – no, that was two years ago, during their sixth year…

"Oh, really?" Lucius' unctuous drawl cut into his thoughts, and Draco blushed as he realized that he'd verbalized his thoughts. "And _where_ was Miss Ginevra Weasley all of last year, Draco?"

Draco _hated_ it when his father started these stupid questions; they were meant to make him look stupid in front of other people ... but there was nothing he could do about it now. He may have finished with Hogwarts but with his father's affiliations with the defeated Dark Lord, it would be difficult to find a job higher than a gardener or labourer for the foreseeable future ... until _his_ inheritance comes into play, that is.

Until that time comes around, he will just have to play his father's stupid games. "She was at Hogwarts, Father ... she went home for the Easter hols and then didn't come back until the battle."

"Right," Lucius replied in a condescending tone. "So we have Potter and the mudblood 'missing' for most of a year on some 'quest' for Dumbledore ... what do you think are the chances that the little –

what did you call her? – _Weaslette _will even have a chance with Potter after that?"

"But Weasley was with them the whole time..."

"Really?" The word was drawn out as Lucius smirked. "I have it on _good_ authority that young Mr. Weasley was seen staying with his brother, the former Gringotts curse-breaker, for several _months_ last year. Don't you think that _that_ would give Potter and Granger the chance to get 'closer' to each other?"

Draco had to concede the point. If it were him, he'd be shagging the Granger bitch every chance he got – not that he would even touch the bint with a ten-foot pole. And if the two lovebirds 'forgot' to use contraceptive charms or potions … there'd be a Potter sprog in the oven just waiting to take over the Black inheritance.

Still … "What if Potty decides to marry the Weasley bint, Father? What then?"

If anything, Lucius' grin grew even wider. "Do you really think Potter would marry someone whose _mother_ has been feeding him love potions for almost a year?"

Lucius couldn't help it – the shock and amazement on the faces of his wife and son were just too delicious – and he laughed, a high, cruel cackle that grated on the ears of his audience. He quickly got himself under control, although he was still sniggering as he said, "Amazing what you learn if you know who to ask." In a sharp voice, he commanded, "Blinky!"

Mother and son blinked as a seemingly elderly house-elf wearing a tea cosy with the Malfoy crest popped in. He looked around nervously, hands wringing the tea cosy spasmodically. Narcissa shook her head – Blinky was the only house-elf left to them after the Dark Lord's riff-raff had used the others for target practice. The only reason he was alive was because he'd been sent to Hogwarts as Draco's house-elf, a practice many pureblood families followed to ensure their children were well cared for. Narcissa knew that he wasn't part of the house-elves rebellion led by that traitor Kreacher … in fact, they'd found Blinky watching over an unconscious Draco, who the elf had knocked out to keep him safe from the battle…

Narcissa pushed those thoughts out of her mind as she focused on Lucius and the elf.

"Blinky," Lucius said, "tell your Mistress and the young Master about the gossip concerning Potter."

Narcissa shook her head. Trust Lucius to pick up on _that_ after losing Dobby to Potter in '93 … Draco had been bragging and boasting – to himself and his friends, especially Crabbe and Goyle – about what he would do to Potter when they returned to school. Who could have thought the crazy elf would take it upon himself to warn Potter about her son's idle boasts?

And then the whole thing spiralled out of control when Lucius planted that stupid diary on the Weasley girl…

She shook the thought off and turned back to the house-elf who was squirming as it tried to phrase its words properly: "Blinky's overhearing Dobby and Kreacher fighting over the great Harry Potter last last year (Narcissa translated this to mean two years ago – Draco's sixth year). Dobby was placing something on the great Harry Potter's plate and goblet but Kreacher kept trying to stop him. Kreacher telling Dobby he be placing love potions in the great Harry Potter's plate and goblet but Dobby kept saying nutritional potion that Missus Wheezy prepared specially for the great Mr. Potter."

"Missus Wheezy?" Narcissa asked, puzzled.

"Red headed mum of redhead in the great Harry Potter's year and dorm."

Narcissa nodded but was interrupted by Draco's snide voice, "What's with all this 'great Harry Potter' shyte?"

She was about to reprimand her son on his language but she turned back to the visibly cringing house-elf, "All Hoagy-warty elves call him that, Master. Is after he slew King of Snakes in secret chamber five years ago."

Draco's scoffed "King of Snakes?" was matched by Narcissa's whispered, "A basilisk? In the Chamber of Secrets?" She cast narrowed eyes at her husband who was looking away, no doubt remembering the torture he'd endured when the Dark Lord learned of the fate of the diary he'd had in Lucius' safekeeping. It was another of Lucius' 'brilliant' plans gone to the dogs – he'd never fully explained _why_ he'd decided to plant the accursed thing on the Weasleys unless …

Her eyes narrowed. Unless he was planning on depositing it in his Gringotts vault, like Bella did with _her_ artefact, but got distracted when he picked a fight with Arthur in the bookstore – and decided, in a moment of pique, to plant it on the youngest Weasley. In which case, his stupidity got paid back a thousand times worse when Voldemort (she shuddered) found out.

"You are dismissed, Blinky," she said. She watched the house-elf pop away and shook her head. That was a disastrous year for Lucius … only, the implications were not apparent for _years_. Voldemort's diary was not part of any plan to cause mayhem at the school … Lucius had simply jumped on the bandwagon when students started getting petrified and he had an opportunity to try to kick Dumbledore out … _Arrgh!_ She thought to herself … her husband's 'plans' never worked out well –

there was always some small flaw, some little thing overlooked that came back and bit him on the ass, often taking a large piece of flesh with it … good thing that the 'biting on the ass' thing was figurative, not literal, she thought or he wouldn't have an ass left…

She turned back to the conversation between her son and her husband – she had to admit that Draco was asking some good questions; apparently, that slap to his head was doing some good.

"But what's to stop Potter from marrying someone else? If it gets out that he's Lord Black…"

"Do you really think he would? Marry someone else, I mean? He's had seven years at Hogwarts with no girlfriend except for that potions-induced fling with the Weasley bint … When he finds out what Molly Weasley has done…"

Narcissa couldn't help it – her grin rivalled that of her husband. Yes, he did have a point, she thought. His best friends 'eloping,' leaving him alone at the height of his victory, to be followed by the revelation that his girlfriend's mother had been dosing him with love potions … that would be more than enough to send him screaming for the hills.

And _that_, she realized, may be the ultimate objective of Lucius' scheme – to push Potter beyond the breaking point by piling romantic betrayal on top of romantic betrayal … he'd swear off _women_ for a long, long time – long enough for the codicils to take effect and –

Her eyes narrowed at the thought. Again, the combined simplicity and elaborate nature of the plan struck her as odd … and the _timing_ of the whole thing was suspicious. Why now? Why the seeming rush on the whole thing?

She could feel her brain speeding up again as she went over everything they'd been discussing …

Fact – Potter was of age last July; the whole magical world knew when his birthday was; Hades, even the Dark Lord knew – which was why he'd attacked Potter's muggle home on his birthday. Plus, being the Black heir since '95 … he'd already fulfilled the requirements of the first codicil.

Fact – nobody could find him for some months … until that oaf Yaxley almost caught Potter, Granger and Weasley when they'd escaped the Ministry of Magic in early September last year. And they were headed right for Grimmauld Place. Her face hardened at the thought – Yaxley's holding on to Granger when the latter apparated brought him right into the Black Family Manor … and while Potter and friends were able to escape, bringing Yaxley into the house broke Dumbledore's Fidelius … so now they knew where the Black Manor was.

The thing was … _Potter _had been staying there, probably since the start of August when the Dark Lord took over the Ministry. Which means that the requirements of the second codicil had been fulfilled … Potter _is_ the Lord Black.

But that meant … the one-year time frame for meeting the third codicil had only four more months to run. In four months, unless Potter married or named an Heir, the Black magic would strip him of the title and Draco can step up to the plate…

But then … of course, she thought. _Potter doesn't know he's the Lord Black _– which means he probably isn't aware of the protocols and codicils implicit in that title! If he did know … Narcissa shuddered. If he had known he was the Lord Black, he wouldn't have tried breaking into Gringotts to go after Bella's artefact. Shyte, she thought to herself. If Potter only knew of his title and position … it would have been as simple a matter as dissolving Bella's marriage to Rodolphus and ordering the return of her dowry –_ and every other Black property that Bella brought into the marriage! _

But he didn't know … thus that break-in and spectacular escape on a dragon!

She shook her head in both exasperation and admiration … foolish boy! If he'd only known … but he didn't. On such small things does the world turn – and battles are won or lost.

But then, why didn't he _know?_ The goblins are duty-bound to tell him … unless they _couldn't find him! _Potter had been successful in hiding from them for nearly a year … not just hiding but actually _escaping_ them as she remembered Potter escaping from here because of that damned house-elf!

The goblins couldn't tell him _anything_ unless they could find him … but now that the war was over, it should be a simple matter of getting in touch with him, scheduling an appointment and then explaining the facts of life…

She sat back in her chair, dizzy from all the scenarios and permutations of Lucius' plan. _That was it_, she thought – it was never about causing Potter pain, or creating some inconvenience for Weasley and Granger. As she realized earlier … _it was all about driving Potter away from the wizarding world._ With Granger and Weasley 'married,' the youngest Weasley and her mother's potions plot exposed … being betrayed by his friends would be enough to drive him away – anywhere where the goblins and the magical world won't find him.

No Potter, no marriage, no heir … no Lord Black.

Draco would just simply walk in to Grimmauld Place and take over.

No muss, no fuss.

Unless the goblins find him first … and another piece of the puzzle fell into place. Didn't the Death Eaters at the bank say that Potter had a goblin with him when he broke into Gringotts? True, that particular goblin may not have known of the Black Inheritance but still … Lucius also knew about the blood adoption – those rituals had to be witnessed and supervised by a goblin.

She had to stop this, she thought. Too many possibilities, too many scenarios … she just had to hope that Lucius' scheme would fall into place without crushing them beneath it. Much as she hated to admit it, there was a certain elegance and simplicity to the plan that would make it workable.

And as for Lucius doing the planning?

She just had to trust he knew what he was doing. After all, you don't plant a thousand seeds without harvesting at least _one_ potato, right?

Narcissa realized that the dining room was silent; her husband and son were looking at her strangely. She shook herself and smiled at them – content that she knew what she needed to know. She looked up in the air for a second, thinking, and shouted – "Blinky! Cham – no, cognac!"

A few seconds later, with a small "POP!" an ancient, dusty bottle of cognac appeared on the table, along with three crystal snifters.

She smirked at Lucius, who was looking at her suspiciously. "Milord, if you will do the honours? We celebrated your 'prank' this morning with champagne; since it is after lunch, maybe it's time for something more ... aromatic?"

Smiling, Lucius proceeded to pour the drinks; when he was done, he raised his glass in a toast. "Here's to Draco Lucius Malfoy, soon to be Lord Black, Head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black."

The three Malfoys clinked glasses and, after the ceremonial heating of the snifters and imbibing of the aromas, they proceeded to sip their drinks while they contemplated the future. The two male Malfoys, however, did not notice that Narcissa (contrary to all her training) didn't sip her cognac – she actually gulped down a dram, relishing the heat that made it down to her stomach.

As she slowly sipped the remainder, she kept wondering why her mind continually replayed something she had watched with Lily Evans when they were much younger: Wile E. Coyote watching an anvil falling down on him.


	5. Chapter 5

**DISCLAIMER:** Harry Potter and related characters are the property of JK Rowling, various publishing companies, Warner Brothers and whoever else. No monies are being made from this; I'm just indulging in playing in an alternate universe to real life.

**Grâce auX Malfoys – Part 5**

**HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY**

Laughter was the last thing on people's minds in the ancient castle.

Ginevra Molly Weasley was angry.

And when Ginevra Weasley was angry, ghosts fled, portraits hid – and everyone else knew to keep out of her way.

There was no mystery as to _why_ she was angry – the rumours started spreading within seconds of her stalking out of the Great Hall. As had been observed before, rumour and gossip were the only things in the magical world faster than apparition.

The first wave of rumours was straightforward: _Someone_ had fed a love potion to her brother – and Ginny was out for blood. Most people scoffed at that; the older students knew that Ginny would have gladly _helped_ the witch feed a potion to her brother – besides, they thought, Ginny wouldn't be the one doing the hexing if _Ron_ were the victim.

Hermione Granger would be the one.

Right?

That rumour was quickly followed by another: the love potion wasn't intended for her brother, it was intended for Ginny's betrothed, Harry Potter.

Heads nodded. _That_ was certainly more credible than the earlier rumour although heads were shaking at the name of the witch who'd _allegedly_ tried to 'potion' Harry Potter. Everyone agreed, however, that the witch's life was measured in hours – Ginny Weasley was out for blood, and would doubtless be assisted by Harry's best friend and Ronald Weasley's betrothed, Hermione Granger.

Which led to the question – _where_ was Hermione Granger?

Come to think of it … _where was Harry Potter?_

***

**OFFICE OF THE MINISTER OF MAGIC**

Two young people in grey robes with the hoods thrown back peeked around the ornate door of the Minister of Magic's office and grinned manically at the sight before them: the tall, broad, dark and bald Minister sitting at his desk, eyes closed, fingers steepled beneath his chin, apparently asleep. For a moment, concern flashed on their faces – the normally neat and tidy Kingsley Shacklebolt looked haggard and grey, the result of too many tense days and sleepless nights before, during and after the final battle with He-Who-Is-Now-Gone.

Their concern was short-lived, however. This was too good an opportunity, so the young woman cast a silent '_Sonorus_' on herself, and a fair approximation of Molly Weasley's foghorn voice blasted the room: "KINGSLEY SHACKLEBOLT! I LEAVE YOU FOR A MINUTE AND YOU FALL ASLEEP ON THE JOB! YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED –"

Hermione couldn't finish – she and Harry were on the floor, laughing at the sight of the Minister for Magic cowering behind his desk, looking exactly like a boy who'd been caught by his mum reading 'exotic' men's magazines.

Shacklebolt scowled as he realized he'd been had; drawing himself to his full and impressive height, he glared at them before shifting his eyes to his secretary standing in the door, who'd apparently rushed in when Hermione started shouting – and was now valiantly struggling to keep from joining the teens on the floor. She squeaked and was about to flee when Harry said, "Hey! Don't take it out on Natalie – I _told_ her not to tell you we were here..."

Shacklebolt glared at Harry, who was helping Hermione to her feet. Sighing, the Minister glanced at his secretary who nodded, smiled and carefully closed the door – although Shacklebolt could hear hysterical laughter before it was abruptly cut off, doubtless from a silencing charm. The three friends looked at each other for a moment before dissolving into laughter themselves – and the Minister's office (both inside and out) rang with a sound so seldom heard in the past few months: unchecked, belly-aching mirth over a harmless prank between friends.

***

**5TH FLOOR STAIRS, HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY**

Ginvera Molly Weasley was angry.

No, she wasn't angry.

She felt _betrayed_ – of all the people she knew, Susan Bones was the _last_ person she would have thought capable of feeding _anyone_ a love potion.

For one, it just wasn't in the gentle Hufflepuff's nature.

For another, Ginny just couldn't _believe_ that Susan would do something like that – to _her_.

_HOW CAN SHE DO THAT TO ME? _

It was the single thought that accompanied every angry step she took as she climbed the stairs. It was a ditty that started when she'd thrown that stunner at her brother Ron – and kept repeating in her mind in an endless, continuing loop.

She wanted to scream – she wanted to cry – she didn't know what she felt.

Betrayed … angry … incensed … crushed … furious … trampled …

Confused.

_**WHY**__ WOULD SHE DO THAT TO ME?_

Ginny nearly stumbled at the top of the stairs as that particular question blasted through her mind, her towering rage dissipating as her rational side kicked in.

_Amazing_, she thought, _how a single, simple change in a question transforms the equation_. She slumped on the stone steps, trying to find the righteous anger that she'd felt earlier when she saw Ron drink his tea and start calling for Susan. She'd Stunned him, not because he sounded like a farmer calling for his hogs (though he _did_ sound like one) but because she'd been overwhelmed by her anger – as she had every right to be.

How can she do that to _me_?

She paused, took a deep breath as she thought, _Wrong question_.

_Why_ would she do that to me, Ginny asked herself. _Why? What have I done?_

As if the question were a trigger for her Inner Eye, memories started to engulf her.

**Flashback**

_She was in the cramped parlour of Great-Aunt Muriel's house, catching up on events with her family after evacuating the Burrow; Bill had told them that Ron's faked spattergroit had been discovered and it was time to move... _

_This was the first time in months that the Weasley family were together– well, most of them, that is._

_Ginny looked around and smiled – Bill and Fleur were sharing a moth-eaten couch while she lounged in an equally old chair in front of them; to one side, Fred, George and Charlie were talking in low tones; she could hear her mother puttering in the kitchen while her dad was asleep upstairs._

_Ginny sighed. If only Harry, Hermione and Ron were here – there'd been no real contact with them since Bill's wedding. She suspected they were staying at Bill's place but she didn't press the matter; some things were best left unknown, she knew._

_She shook her head as Bill and Fleur told them about Ron staying with them for several weeks in December; roared with laughter at Fleur's French-accented rendition of Molly when she visited to find Ron in the kitchen scarfing down food like there was no tomorrow – and no Harry or Hermione in sight; felt her breath hitch as Bill and the others talked about the people they'd lost to the war._

_As she listened, she felt a cold wave of dread wash over her and she was on her feet, wand out and tense, trying to understand what was happening. The others, seeing this, were on their feet – confused but alert, falling silent as they watched her._

_The sudden silence allowed Bill's were-enhanced hearing to pick up the distant sound of spellfire – he quickly disillusioned himself and Ginny heard the near-silent 'pop' of apparition as Fred or George rushed up the stairs to wake their father._

_They waited tensely for Bill to return; no one noticed Ginny literally quivering with anxiety – whatever was happening, she _needed_ to be there. She couldn't explain it but there was _something_ tugging at her, pulling her towards the distant sound of battle. It was all she could do to stop herself from running out – a tiny, logical part of her brain told her to wait so she could portkey with the rest rather than charge into the fray like a headless Gryffindor, but fear and _need_ was overcoming logic and caution..._

_She jumped when Bill reappeared and quickly briefed them – a pitched battle between Snatchers and a group of people he didn't know but it was obvious the Death Eaters had superior numbers. _

_One look at his family and he nodded. Snatching a worn-out afghan from the couch, he waved his wand and silently incanted; the afghan glowed a soft blue and everyone crowded in to place a finger on the portkey as Bill gave hurried instructions: "The moment we land, everyone drop and _roll_ away – check for targets and fire. No Stunners – we can't afford anyone recognizing us ... Cutters, Reductos, Confringos, ok?"_

_He hesitated before continuing. "Hex to kill. OK?"_

_The family nodded; no one noticed Ginny behind Charlie nodding in agreement, all of them – including Molly – looking serious and deadly. With a final nod, Bill activated the portkey, only to hear Molly screaming, "Ginny!" but it was too late. _

_Seconds later, the Weasleys found themselves in a clearing several miles from Muriel's house – as briefed, they all dropped to the ground and started rolling away as a barrage of spells flew over their heads – immediately after, they were up and fighting back, curses flying in retaliation..._

_Ginny's favourite Bat-Bogey Hex was among these – no matter Bill's instructions, she just couldn't find it in herself to fire Reductos or Cutting Curses blindly. She dodged a spell – one part of her mind telling her to _move_ and she did – jumping up and running for a large tree, spinning around behind it and leaning back, breathing hard, wand out and adrenaline pumping – freezing at the sight of a huge man trying to pull up his pants. Beneath the trunk-like legs of the Snatcher, she saw _someone_ with torn robes, bruised face and blonde hair and her vision tunnelled in a red abd black haze as a roaring sound came to her ears..._

_She never knew if she incanted silently or screamed – she blinked and watched with cold detachment as the Snatcher's face exploded, followed by his body flying into the air from her Banishing Charm. Unthinking, Ginny was on her knees beside his victim, a hand running over the other's face and neck, checking for pulse or injuries ... and feeling herself awash in liquid fire as her startled eyes met and held the shocked eyes of Susan Bones._

_Ginny vaguely heard Charlie and Bill calling for her; she knew she had answered when both were at her side and checking her over for injuries but she didn't notice. She couldn't hear them talking above the rushing of blood in her ears and the feeling of warmth, protectiveness and – familiarity? – coursing through her as she held Susan's hand._

_It was Fleur's hand on her shoulder that made her blink and look around, realizing the battle was over and they had to get out. Susan had fallen unconscious and Ginny watched quietly as Fleur conjured a stretcher that Bill turned into a portkey for home. Her family gathered around and touched the stretcher – she never surrendered her grip on Susan's hand as they portkeyed away..._

**End Flashback**

Ginny shook her head as the memories faded.

She knew what had happened – she'd heard it often enough growing up, heard it again and again _ad nauseum _… especially in the summers since she started Hogwarts...

A soul bond.

It was myth and legend, something girls giggled about as they grew up while boys scoffed … it was a story every magical child grew up with at the knees of nannies or mothers – and something that she'd been told to expect the first time she touched Harry Potter.

It was why she was so excited to meet him when the Twins came down from the Express the year Ron went to Hogwarts to tell them that they'd met Harry Potter – all she needed, she thought, was a chance to shake his hand so the soul bond could form ... but it was not to be. Her mother comforted her as they went home, promising her that there would be other chances, other opportunities...

She still flushed with embarrassment every time she remembered that first summer when Harry visited the Burrow – no matter the myriad opportunities, her courage always failed her – but then again, she was going to Hogwarts soon and there would be more than enough chances there, right?

Only to be saddened when, at the end of her first year, she realized that she _hadn't_ felt any such spark, as she'd been led to expect. Harry had held her briefly when she finally woke up from the diary's enchantments; he'd been holding her hand as they left the Chamber of Secrets ... but there was nothing.

Not a thing.

It was disappointing. It was _devastating_. To have dreamed of something for so long only to realize that it hadn't happened ... Molly told her that she must have overlooked it, or maybe didn't notice it because she'd been so distraught from the stress of that whole year. Deep down, however, she wondered. There'd been more than enough opportunity to touch Harry then and in the years since … he was, after all, her brother's best friend and he'd always treated her kindly…

But there had never been that 'spark,' there had never been that tingling sensation that had been dinned into her growing up … until she came to believe that it was not to be. She'd given up in her third year – the year of the Tri-Wizard tournament, when she realized that Hermione would always be his best and truest friend … when she realized that Harry would always see her as Ron's little sister … it was when Neville shyly asked her to be his date for the Yule Ball that she realized there were _others_ out there …_someone_ out there with whom she would feel that spark of legend.

How in Hades was she to know that that all-elusive 'spark' would flame into being with a _girl?_

She denied it, of course – kept rejecting it in the days and weeks after Susan's rescue, as she tended to Susan's injuries with a single-minded devotion that she hadn't felt for anyone else in her life ... not even for Harry Potter.

Ginny sighed – thankful that Molly never realized the reason she'd spent so much time with Susan. She'd fed the older girl as her injuries healed, helped her change clothes or assisted her when she walked to the toilet, read at Susan's bedside while the older witch slept and always, always, she would sneak a squeeze of the hand, or brush Susan's hair from her face – even hugging her whenever Susan had a nightmare...

The problem was, she was too scared to open up about it ... too terrified of her feelings whenever she thought of Susan ... and too happy when she realized that Susan seemed to be reciprocating her feelings. They'd never talked about what happened that day in the clearing – but Ginny noticed that Susan would lean into her as she was helped from bed to bathroom, that Susan would always sit beside her at the dinner table and they'd frequently brush their elbows, hands or knees against each other...

They'd talked about schoolwork, Susan speaking fondly about Herbology and Charms while Ginny shared her fascination with Ancient Runes and both laughed about Divination. They'd shared their dreams: Susan's of settling down to a quiet life after the war, raising children while Ginny talked of Quidditch, of playing for the Holyhead Harpies and England at the World Cup ...

And they'd talked about Harry. There was no avoiding it. Harry had been a part of their lives for years, both having grown up with legends of The Boy Who Lived and then being schoolmates and friends with him. Susan was understandably curious – no matter that she was Harry's year mate and a founding member of the DA, Harry had always been a closed book to her. Ginny, on the other hand, regaled the older witch with the 'inside story' on many of Harry's adventures – but as the stories unfolded, she became uneasy.

She realized she just did not _know_ Harry James Potter as well as she thought she did. Many of the tales she'd regaled Susan with were second-hand, stories that Hermione told her during the summers they'd spent together at the Burrow or Grimmauld. Other things though...

She finally told Susan about her first kiss with Harry, describing it in exacting detail – her excitement at winning the game for Gryffindor; the celebration in their common room; Harry entering after his detention with Snape; seeing him come into the room and feeling a wave of emotion coursing through her which seemed to 'push' her towards him and made her throw her arms around him; watching his lips as they descended and finally met hers...

'_It felt like a dream_,' Ginny remembered telling Susan late one night. '_After so long, after I'd all but given up on him, it was finally happening ... I was _kissingHarry Potter_, I was finally kissing Harry Potter. It was my dream fulfilled...'_

Ginny shook her head. Looking back at that kiss now ... she had to wonder why it felt like a badly written romance straight out of Witch Weekly. There was _nothing_, once again, of the sparks that she'd expected to feel, _nada_ of the trail of liquid fire that she was told she'd encounter ... nothing like the warmth and comfort she felt as she told the tale to Susan, who was holding her hand as she spoke.

She felt ... _detached_ from the whole thing, almost as if it had happened to someone else – or to some minor character in an adventure story, brought in to give the hero a 'romantic' interlude. And, if she was honest with herself, the weeks after that kiss felt exactly the same – it was as if everything that had happened after was happening to someone else.

_That_, she told Susan, was why it was so easy to let go of Harry after Dumbledore's funeral. She'd put up token resistance then, mainly because it was expected of her. No one gave up a relationship with the Boy-Who-Lived without a fight, after all – but surprisingly, it hadn't hurt as much as she expected it to be.

Even their 'encounter' at the Burrow on Harry's birthday felt the same way – it had all the air of a Confunded writer beating a deadline and coming up with a half-baked plot …

And _that_, she told herself now, was why she was in a towering rage when Ron started spouting off about Susan. It wasn't because of a love potion directed at Ron; it wasn't because the potion was aimed at Harry – it was because _Susan_ did it.

Susan, who shared her deepest thoughts and dreams; Susan who listened to her doubts and feelings; _Susan_,to whom she'd confided that she wasn't sure of her feelings for Harry.

Susan, to whom she felt a constant tugging at her mind and heart.

She stood up abruptly – she _had_ to find her. She had to know _why_ ... why would Susan do that to her? Why?

With a deep breath, she was moving – face seemingly carved in stone, eyes glittering with seemingly feral rage but were actually tears, fists clenched as she ran, feet moving automatically as if they knew where she had to go ... unaware that behind her, the disillusioned figures of Bill and Fleur were following ...

***

**THE MINISTER'S PRIVATE DINING ROOM, MINISTRY OF MAGIC**

Minister of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt sat like an impassive ebony Buddha at the end of 'his' table in the Ministry's private dining room, the remnants of a working lunch in front of him, listening intently as Hermione told her tale and placed documents and pictures on the table.

He stirred and looked through the documents and pictures presented, frowning at the red-lettered Ministry parchment and glancing at the lurid picture of 'Ron' and 'Hermione' that the teens had focused on. Silently casting a charm, he nodded as the family ring came into focus.

"That's the Malfoy family ring, all right," he said. The teens slumped in their seats – suspicions confirmed. One mystery down.

He then picked up the muggle contract and waved his wand – watched impassively as the paper gave a soft blue glow which quickly dissipated, shook his head as the magical document turned blue in its turn. The bold, red 'DENIED' in large letters remained on the magical contract, however, and he frowned.

"They're authentic – both of them," he proclaimed, and proceeded to explain at seeing their puzzled looks. "The Ministry doesn't advertise it but Gretna Green is one of the few places in the United Kingdom where a muggle wedding is granted automatic recognition in the wizarding world – making it legal in _both_ worlds."

He held the muggle document up. "The Ministry of Magic provides the 'muggle' marriage contracts for Gretna Green. They're enchanted with watermarked runes that interact with the magic of the wedded couple and the magical witnesses –" He smiled at the calculating look on Hermione's face and nodded before she could ask, "Yes, Hermione – that's why wizards or witches in a muggle ceremony require two magical witnesses.

"The magic of the witnesses and the witch or wizard getting married trigger the runes which send the information by magical means to the Ministry's Central Records where the names, dates and signatures are imprinted on the Magical Registry; a copy of the contract is then generated and ready for pick-up by the couple or their proxies."

"Wouldn't the magical signatures of polyjuiced people show up on the contracts?"

Kingsley shook his head. "No, it doesn't – there's no real defence against polyjuice, as you know. You use a bit of the person being 'copied' as the final ingredient … that transfers the magical signature of the person to the one using the potion. The reason why the transformation lasts only an hour is because the magical 'bit' deteriorates and the transformation ends."

He continued, "There's no way that Albus would have known that Crouch Junior was impersonating Moody – not unless Albus was actively using Legilimens then but I doubt he even bothered. Alastor was a Master Occulumens; besides, from what I understand, the fake Moody never spent much time with Albus or the others … everyone just assumed it was Alastor being his normal, paranoid self."

"So," Hermione said, "anyone can grab a few hairs, polyjuice himself or herself into someone else, get married in the muggle or magical world … and the marriage is considered _legal? _That's … that's _insane!_"

The Minister of Magic sighed. "There's no law against making or using polyjuice. The problem is that it is _supposed_ to be so difficult to brew" – his eyebrows quirked at the snorts from Harry and Hermione; Sirius had told him about _that _– "given the time needed for proper brewing and the rarity of ingredients, as well as the controls imposed on those same ingredients ... the Wizengamot never bothered to impose sanctions."

He held up his hand before Hermione could go into a rant. "Let's take it one at a time. First, there _are_ sanctions for impersonating people – whether by polyjuice, glamour or a Metamorphmagus – but only _if _you can prove nefarious intent, as well as an intent to harm or defraud. Otherwise, it will be considered a prank and the offender gets a slap on the wrist."

Shacklebolt continued, "In this case, it is common knowledge that you and Ronald were a couple during your last year at Hogwarts. What's to stop the Malfoys from claiming that they simply wanted to 'push' you to the next logical step and get married? By now, everyone knows that you and Ron were with Harry most of last year, doing whatever it was that needed doing to defeat Riddle."

He watched as Hermione deflated and added, "Finally, there is the matter of this." He held up the magical marriage contract. "Since it's been 'denied' by some higher power we are not aware of, there's no 'case.' As I said, it moves from being a nefarious plot to a prank."

"But what if the magical contract _wasn't_ denied? That means that I'm going to be married, legally and magically, to Ronald!" She shuddered at that.

The Minister sighed and braced himself before responding. "And where's the 'harm' in that, Hermione?"

He held up a large hand at the teen's outraged face – and shuddered at the piercing, death glare directed at him. "This is the _magical_ world, Hermione! Arranged marriages are legal, people measure a family's status by the size of the bride's dowry – and look!"

He waved the Daily Prophet in her face. "Our whole world is _celebrating! _'First marriage after Victory'!" he parroted the headlines. He took a deep breath before sighing and continuing. "Most people will think that you're one lucky witch – you're a muggle-born who's marrying into one of the oldest pureblooded families in Britain! One who has fought against Voldemort himself! You should be honoured that you're marrying Ron!"

He cringed at the murderous looks on the teens' faces. "Don't look at me like that, guys – I'm just repeating the party line! Never mind your feelings, whether you have them or not, for Ron – you're marrying one of the heroes of the War, who's a cinch for an Order of Merlin First Class ... you're set for life, Hermione."

"And if I don't _want_ to marry Ronald Bilius Weasley?" Hermione spat. She was about to continue her rant when Harry's hand on her arm stopped her.

"Hermione," she turned to look into Harry's concerned eyes. "It did _not_ happen! You said it yourself – hell, even the Minister for Magic has said it! You. Are. NOT. Married. How or why, we don't know ... but the fact remains – your 'marriage' is DENIED. Nothing can change that."

It may have been the strength of Harry's declaration, or the calming effect of his hand on her arm that deflated Hermione's incipient rant. She slumped in her chair, unable to control the brief shakes that her body went through at having dodged that particular bullet. How or why it happened, she didn't know; the fact remained, however, that Harry was right – she was not married to Ronald Weasley.

And for that she should be grateful, right? Which, however, left one major issue still on the table – why? What was all this for? Why target her and Ron? Unless … her eyes narrowed as she watched Harry turn towards Shacklebolt. Was _Harry_ the Malfoys' target? She dismissed the idea immediately only to have it come back to her even more forcefully – true, it would have caused a rift in the Trio but she was confident enough in her friendship with Harry to know that a falling-out between them wouldn't last.

Yes, it would cause Harry emotional distress but it wouldn't last. Harry was a past expert at keeping his emotions hidden … sure, it would have hurt a lot for a while but Harry would eventually get over it. _Or would he?_ Her eyes narrowed even further at that thought.

Was that the Malfoy game plan? Get her and Ron 'married,' causing Harry emotional distress – which would lead to him leaving Britain altogether? Or … what if she _refused_ to accept what happened? Hell – if Kingsley or anyone else told her there was no getting out of this, she'd be on the next plane going anywhere away from Britain. Shite, she thought, she'd even apparate across the Channel in a heartbeat, seek asylum in France or Ireland before making her way to Australia and her parents – and from there, either jump to New Zealand or make her way to America or Antarctica … anywhere as long as it was far, far away from Ronald Bilius Weasley.

And Harry would be right beside her – or chasing after her. Not to make her go back – of that, she was sure. He'd choose exile from Britain rather than watch her be married to Ron – or was that her ego talking? She shook her head to clear her thoughts, in time to hear Harry's question to Kingsley: "Which still doesn't answer the question of why Malfoy would go through all this. What's his purpose? What's his plan – there's got to be _something!_"

There was no response from the Minister – and the two teens slumped in their chairs, unconsciously reaching out for the other's hand as their exhausted brains kept trying to find a reason for Lucius Malfoy's actions but coming up with nothing.

Neither teen noticed that the Minister seemed to be fascinated by the magical marriage contract with its large red "DENIED" stamped across the parchment – a small frown on his impassive face the only indication that there was something going on in his mind.

There was something niggling at the back of Shacklebolt's mind ... his comment about arranged marriages had sparked an errant memory buried from years of investigations and assignments ... something that he'd seen years ago during one of his summer internships wt the Ministry when he was assigned as an assistant to the Head Archivist, doing menial tasks like going out into muggle London for curry or fish and chips, putting away ledgers and parchments or releasing these to the witches and wizards asking for copies of their OWLs or NEWTs, as well as the occasional birth or wedding certificate –

"OW!" Shacklebolt was on his feet, rubbing his shin from where he'd slammed into the table's edge as he jumped up, the memory from that long ago day when he was a mere lad who'd joined his father – a minor clerk in the Ministry's Archives section – for the day and found himself listening in wide-eyed fascination at the scream fest engaged in by two dowagers from prominent families as they argued over a magical contract such as this...

He turned to the two teens in the room with him, both on their feet, back-to-back with wands out, scanning for a threat. He grinned at the sight and shook his head, gave a gentle cough and carefully said, "I think the two of you should go with me ... If I'm right..."

He trailed off as Harry and Hermione glanced at each other and nodded; Hermione waving her wand and neatly arranging the papers and photographs into an envelope she conjured. It took a moment more before Shacklebolt realized that Harry and Hermione were looking expectantly at him and he quickly set off, pausing at the door to unseal it and usher the teens through.

Hermione stopped at the door, and the Minister responded before she could even give voice to her question: "The Department of Mysteries, Hermione ... if I'm right, there's something there we need to see."

With that, he turned and set off; the two teens could only shrug at each other before they took off to catch up with him.

***

**THE ASTRONOMY TOWER, HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY**

Susan Bones stood on the ramparts of the Astronomy Tower, glazed eyes staring vacantly at nothing; gaunt face expressionless, showing no sign that she felt the cool breeze from the forest or the heat from the sun that was high above her.

Susan Bones was waiting, and ready to be set free.

She hoped that her latest action would do the trick … she prayed that even now, a righteously angry Harry Potter or self-righteous Molly Weasley was charging up the stairs, wand out and ready – they had the _right_ to take their anger out on her for what she'd just done…

She wished it would be quick … that Harry would simply cast his favourite 'Expelliarmus' on her, sending her over the ramparts and she would finally escape the Bones' family magic, that accursed _thing _thatshe'd been fighting for the better part of two years, ever since that horrible night when she'd come home to see the ring of Aurors around the broken, mangled remains of her Aunt Amelia, leaving her the last of the Ancient and Valiant House of Bones.

She'd floated in a dark cloud for weeks, functioning like a mindless golem even as the people around her watched and worried, even as she constantly assured them that she was all right. She'd finally decided to return to Hogwarts for her sixth year, acting as if nothing happened and showing a stiff upper lip to the school. No one truly realized that she was operating on auto-pilot, her soul lost in a dark, dense fog – until the Splinching accident 'woke her up'.

She shivered at the memories – of Twycross rambling on and on about his three Ds; of following instructions without thinking, unheeding of the others around her as they struggled to apparate; of suddenly feeling that uncomfortable sensation of being squeezed through a small tube – and she found herself across the room, only to fall over screaming as she realized she'd left her leg behind.

It was bedlam all around her but all she remembered was the shock, the pain, the _fear _tearing at her throat – the emotions finally breaking through the depression that had surrounded her for so long. She could hear the teachers putting her back together, Madame Pomfrey examining her, Twycross' dispassionate voice above the hubbub –

She fled the Great Hall as soon as her leg was restored, unable to continue the lesson – only to slam into someone in the corridor outside, bringing both of them down on the cold stone floor. She was on her back, staring at the ceiling when a concerned voice broke through her addled mind, and she saw a slim hand in front of her.

Unthinking, she grasped the offered hand tightly – only to nearly scream as she felt a magical pulse travel up her arm and careen around her body. She saw a look of shock and surprise in the eyes of the person holding her hand – they immediately recognized each other before the other person let go, nearly stumbling backward in confusion before turning around and fleeing … leaving her on the floor, shocked, confused and scared.

As a pureblood, Susan had grown up with the oral traditions of the magical world – its legends, tales and 'old wives tales.' She knew what had happened but refused to accept it – not so much because it was a 'legend' but because of the identity of the person who'd touched her. That was impossible, her mind kept telling her … but her heart would not be denied.

She finally plucked up the courage to approach the person who'd begun haunting her dreams and fantasies – and found to her surprise that Ginny Weasley was also going through the same 'crisis' she did and, like her, did not know what to make of it. They'd agreed to take things slow – Ginny, like her, was a pureblood who also realized what had happened … but Ginny was hemmed in by expectations, by commitments to school, to family, to Magical society as a whole …

Susan didn't feel the tears falling down her cheeks as she stood on the Astronomy Tower, her mind running furiously over the memories of the previous year – was it only last year? Susan shook her head – of course, she realized, it was her sixth year at Hogwarts and it _was _just over a year ago. So much had happened in the months since…

**Flashback **

_The days and weeks passed and they continued their innocuous 'meetings' under the guise of tutorials in the library – growing ever closer and becoming more confident in what they had … helping the person she now knew to be her 'other half' find the courage and strength to face up to what they were feeling … until the day she realized that she'd been living in a dream world._

_The news was shocking, to say the least – Ronald Weasley had been poisoned, first by a love potion intended for Harry, and then by tainted mead in Slughorn's office. Susan knew that Ginny would be going spare by now – she may not have liked her brother that much, but he was still _family_, and she waited anxiously at 'their' table in the library, ready to comfort and support her friend and – dare she say it? – her soul mate._

_She wanted to go to the Hospital Wing to see how Ginny was holding up, but she held herself back – she had no reason to go there, no reason to be with her. She stayed in the library and listened to the rumours, heard that the Weasleys had arrived in force and was glad that Ginny would have some emotional support but wishing she was the one giving it. She stuck it out there, waiting until Madam Pince finally chased her out. She'd been tempted to pass by the Hospital Wing but stopped herself – she could not barge into a family affair..._

_She was back to the library the following day, waiting – her smile glowing as she spotted Ginny coming in but her smile faded as she watched Ginny pass by without even a glance, simply pass by looking confused – as if she had an appointment with someone that she couldn't remember. She couldn't stand the confused look on the flame-haired witch's face and approached – only to step back as she saw the brown eyes that were so full of life and mischief looking at her blankly, without recognition or memory..._

_Susan fled – ran to her dormitory and threw herself on her bed in tears. She knew what had happened – one did not grow up with the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement without learning some things – Ginny had been obliviated. Who – she had her suspicions. Why – __she had her misgivings._

_As the weeks passed, she watched the Gryffindors closely – and felt the pain stabbing as the actuations of her Gryffindor year-mates confirmed her suspicions. She wondered how she could have missed the signs – but realized that there was nothing she could do. There were forces at work beyond her capability to fight. If Aunt Amelia were alive, Susan could have approached Magical Britain's top law enforcer with her suspicions, but with Aunt Amelia gone... _

_Besides, she thought, if the Boy-Who-Lived and the Smartest-Witch-In-A-Generation didn't see what was going on around them, who was _she_ to intervene? _

_It was then that Susan made her decision: it was time to seek out her family, to join them on the 'next great adventure' rather than stick around where her dreams would never be fulfilled. _

_But the family magic kicked in and stopped her from ending her life. _

_She kept trying but the family magic kept frustrating her – until Kingsley Shacklebolt and several Aurors showed up at her home with the news that Voldemort had taken over the Ministry and they were there to get her to safety._

_She refused. She told them that her family hadn't run away when the going got tough – and she would be damned if she would be the first – or the last – Bones to take the easy path. It was only in the deepest part of her mind that she admitted the truth: the family magic may stop her from killing herself ... but it couldn't stop someone _else_ from killing her, right?_

_And so it was that Susan Amelia Bones, Scion of the Ancient and Valiant House of Bones, became a part of Magical Britain's resistance movement. She'd joined the Aurors who were loyal to her Aunt, and they soon became a highly efficient team – ambushing Snatchers, rescuing muggleborn families and getting them to safety, doing their best to fight back against the darkness..._

_Until one day when they got into a running battle with a large Death Eater group near Ottery St. Catchpole led by Derrick Bole, the former Slytherin Beater, who recognized her and ordered his men to Stun rather than kill her... _

_She felt the cold-water shock of being enervated only to gasp in pain as a boot slammed into her ribs, saw Bole's savage grin as he started tearing at her clothes ... kicking and fighting only to feel his fist slam into her jaw … watching in bemused detachment as he dropped his pants, her vision greying out – and almost jumping out of her skin as Bole's face exploded into red mist an instant after an enraged voice roared, "Reducto - Expelliarmus!"_

_The shock was enough to keep her from blacking out completely. She felt someone kneeling beside her and soft fingers touching her face – her vision suddenly clearing as familiar sensations coursed through her battered body and she stared in shock at the sight of well-remembered eyes staring at her in surprise, eyes she'd given up on ever seeing again months before… _

**End Flashback**

Susan slammed her fists on the rampart, a keening scream of pain leaving her lips. If anyone needed proof that Fate's a damned sadistic bitch, she thought, _that_ was it …

She'd spent days recovering from her injuries – unfortunately, they'd had no access to Healers or the more complex medical potions – but her recovery was swift, mainly because Ginny was constantly at her side. It seemed as if they'd fallen back into their days at the library except that Ginny had no memory of those but it didn't matter – they were building a whole new set of memories together, although neither one opened up about what happened that day in the clearing.

When the call came over Ginny's enchanted Galleon, they'd both gone to Hogwarts. There was no way _she_ would miss the final encounter with those who'd made her lose her family – as Ginny could not avoid wanting to settle scores with the monster who'd tormented her in first year. When the battle was joined, they found themselves separated – when the struggle ended, they'd found their way to each other...

And as before, Fate – _that_ _friggin' bitch _– had snatched her dreams away from her once again.

She heard the door to the tower slamming open and Susan braced herself, prepared for the curse that would send her hurtling to her death – only to freeze as a familiar but angry voice came from behind her: "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TRYING TO DO, SUSAN? AFTER _EVERYTHING_ THAT'S HAPPENED TO US..."

As Susan Bones faced the red-faced, extremely angry Ginevra Molly Weasley, she could hear hysterical laugher in her mind as Fate got back at her for being called a bitch…

***

**THE DEPARTMENT OF MYSTERIES, MINISTRY OF MAGIC**

For some reason, the corridors of the Ministry of Magic were empty when Shacklebolt and his companions stepped out, a fact that both Harry and Hermione were grateful for. They'd had enough of adulation and congratulations; all they wanted at his moment was an answer to the latest mystery besetting them – that, and a chance to fade quietly away into anonymity.

A short pause while Shacklebolt dropped by his office to tell Natalie where he was going, and the three were on their way to the magical lifts, the corridors echoing softly with their footsteps as they walked.

The silence was soon broken, however, by Hermione's voice as she hesitantly asked, "Minister?"

"Kingsley, please, Hermione … you and Harry have both earned the right."

Hermione bowed her head in acceptance, before continuing, "Why are we going to the Department of Mysteries?"

The arrival of the lift prevented the Minister of Magic from immediately responding; as soon as the three were onboard and the lift was descending, Shacklebolt's deep voice reverberated in the small space. "There is a room in the Department of Mysteries that is kept locked at all times, accessible only to the Head of Magical Archives or, in the event of his death or incapacity, to the Minister of Magic. It contains something that is, perhaps, the most mysterious of the many subjects for study that reside there ..."

"_WHAT?_"

Ruptured eardrums from a bellow in a tight space was prevented only because the lift doors opened in that precise moment; Harry's shout was loud enough to cause their ears to ring for a moment as Shacklebolt and Hermione looked at him in shocked surprise. The sound of the doors closing, however, shook them out of their momentary stupor; without a word, Shacklebolt and Hermione stepped out of the lift, the latter dragging a reluctant Harry Potter with her.

In the corridor outside the lift, Harry slumped against the wall, Hermione at his side with an arm around him, almost as if she was trying to hold him up which was almost the truth. No words had been spoken since Harry's outburst; the Minister's raised eyebrow directed at him sufficed for that, however.

Harry took a deep breath and released a ragged sigh; another breath and he answered their non-verbalized questions: "Dumbledore told me something similar ... about a locked room in the Department of Mysteries that, he said, 'contains a force that is at once more wonderful and more terrible than death, than human intelligence, than the forces of nature'. He ... he said that the room contained 'the power Voldemort knows not'."

"When did he tell you this, Harry?"

Harry took a deep breath to calm himself. "It was the night ... the night Sirius went through the veil." He didn't respond to the sharply drawn breaths of his companions as he continued in a flat voice, his mind and eyes seemingly focused on something only he could see. "He'd sent me back to his office after ... after he drove Voldemort away from me ... it was then that he told me the prophecy ... about me being the only one who can beat the wanker – and about me having 'the power he knows not'."

He shook his head as if to clear it. "He never mentioned the room again after that ... strange, now that I think about it. If that room had something that could have helped me ... why didn't he show it to me? Why talk about it and then forget it?"

He turned intensely green eyes on the frowning face of the Minister of Magic as he asked, "What _is_ in that room, Shack?"

It took a moment for the Minister to marshal his scattered thoughts and bring them to some sort of order. He had to agree with Harry – if Albus knew about the room and its contents (a foregone conclusion, the former Auror thought, as Albus had been the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot), then why hadn't he brought Harry to the room? True, the room was always kept locked but Harry – as did every magical person in Britain – had every right to ask to be shown to the room. All he had to do was to present himself to the Head of Archives and make a request which the latter could not deny; as the 'Head' at the time was Elphias Doge, there should have been no problem with bringing Harry in to have a look.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts, realizing that Harry and Hermione were focused on him, waiting for his response. "It contains a bound list that has existed for centuries called The Book of Souls."

He held up his hands to forestall the sickened or outraged reactions of the two teens, knowing what their reaction would be to the mere mention of 'souls' – especially now, after having dealt with Voldemort's perverted use of Horcruxes. "It's not what you think!" He paused for a second to let them settle down before continuing, "It is a listing of destined couples – soul mates if you will."

"Soul mates?"

Shacklebolt smirked. As expected, it was Harry who asked the question while Hermione frowned; he could almost see the mental gears moving as she tried to access something from her impressive memory. Before she could open her mouth, Shacklebolt continued, "It means fated couples, Harry. Destiny or Fate or God or whatever decided once someone is born that he or she will be partnered for life with someone else ... that the two of them were meant to be together. I think the muggles sometimes call it a marriage made in heaven."

"Marriage?" Shacklebolt smirked; as expected, Harry looked absolutely gob-smacked while Hermione had apparently recovered from the surprise and, with narrowed eyes and furrowed forehead, was already analysing the implications of the revelation. Before he could take a step, however, Harry's hand on his arm stopped him and he turned back to Harry's question: "What does this have to do with Hermione?"

"He thinks that either Ron or I am soul-bound to someone else, Harry." She shook her head at Harry's confused look and continued. "Think about it, Harry – the only reason for the denial of the Malfoy's faked marriage contract is if magic itself rejected it. Which means that either Ron or I am married – or soul bound – to someone else."

It took a second for the light of realization to shine in Harry's eyes; he glanced at Shacklebolt for confirmation and the latter smiled and nodded, saying, "What she said."

He turned back to the corridor with a smirk, just stopping himself from saying, "You like that, don't you?" He had his suspicions but like a true Auror, he preferred to deal with facts and this excursion would prove or disprove his hypothesis. He walked briskly down the corridor only to stop abruptly half-way down; his action so abrupt that the two teens following him nearly crashed into his broad back.

Drawing his wand and concentrating carefully, he quickly tapped the wall from which four musical tones sang out.

Harry and Hermione gaped and glanced at each other, eyebrows raised – did Shacklebolt just tap out the recognition sequence from 'Close Encounters of the Third Kind'? Before they could ask, a door appeared – much like the door leading to the Room of Requirements at Hogwarts – Shacklebolt grasped the handle, turned it and pushed the door open into a torch lit chamber.

They entered and the teens glanced around: it was a relatively small room, even smaller than the Gryffindor common room with only an ancient stone dais in the middle of the space. Resting on it, as the Minister had said, was a large, antiquated book with yellowing parchment pages surrounded by a soft, ethereal glow.

They approached the book silently, with Hermione nearly bowling the Minister over in her eagerness to take a look – and blinking in confusion when they saw the cracked, blank cover of the book covered in leather of some unidentified animal. Hermione was sure of one thing – this wasn't 'ordinary' leather from some bovine; neither was it dragon hide although Harry couldn't help but compare it to basilisk skin.

A soft cough from Shacklebolt and the teens stepped back; the Minister smirked to himself and proclaimed, "Minister of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt in the absence of Dolores Umbridge, Head of Magical Archives."

The faint glow surrounding the book seemed to intensify and the teens gasped as golden runes appeared on the cover of the ancient tome – runes so ancient that even Hermione couldn't recognize them. Before either could ask, the runes seemed to dissolve and run together, only to form words in an elegant Spencerian script:

_THE BOOK OF SOULS_

_Welcome, Seeker of Truth and Fate_

_Asking to Find Thy Soul's True Mate_

_If, perchance, you find that here_

_Then hold them close forever more_

_If your names, however, are not within_

_Despair not – _

_Continue seeking for a heart so dear_

_Love is love whether soul bound or not_

_But for those who seek to sunder the bond_

_A warning here is given clear:_

_A cursed life awaits the one who tries_

_To rip apart united souls._

The teens looked at each other with eyebrows raised; Harry was just able to stop himself from making a sarcastic comment about the writer's ability to rhyme. Another soft cough from Shacklebolt and they stepped aside; in a commanding voice, the Minister of Magic said, "SHOW ME HERMIONE JANE GRANGER!"

The book's ethereal golden glow became even brighter as the Minister fell silent; the three stood awed as the book seemingly came to life – the pages riffling swiftly as if an unseen hand was paging rapidly through it. Soon enough, the intense glow faded and the three eagerly approached to take a look.

Only to blink as they confronted a glowing page devoid of anything save a seeming smudge on the upper corner of the blank page.

***

**THE ASTRONOMY TOWER, HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY**

Susan froze. Of all the scenarios she'd planned for, seeing Ginny was _not _one of them. The irony of the situation and Fate's evident sense of humour grabbed her and she let out a bark of laughter: a high, near-hysterical laugh that had Ginny stepping back, fingering the wand in her pocket, ready to stun or summon in case the seemingly crazed witch decided to take a runner or jump ...

"What d'you think I was supposed to do, Ginevra? You're right – after EVERYTHING we've been through … it's over now, EVERYTHING IS OVER NOW!

"The bastard's dead, he who killed my mum and dad, he who tortured and mutilated Aunt Amelia … Voldemort's dead, gone, ashes … and now we are _expected_ to pick up our lives and continue where we left off?

"And what _life _am I supposed to pick up now? I'm the last of the Bones family … the only one left after everyone else has been sacrificed to this DAMNED WAR!"

"Susan..." Ginny softly called, trying to calm the other witch, but it only seemed to fuel the other witch's rage. Susan turned angry eyes on the small redhead, who stepped back in fear.

"DON'T YOU 'SUSAN' ME, GINEVRA MOLLY WEASLEY! AND DON'T TALK TO ME ABOUT '_EVERYTHING_' WE'VE BEEN THROUGH!" Susan paused, her breathing uneven as she visibly tried to compose herself. "I've been watching, Ginevra … watching as you 'consoled' Harry."

Susan's voice turned harsh, edgy, sarcastic: "You were holding his hand, rubbing his back … doing everything but make goo-goo eyes at him. I realized what was happening … you were going to marry him, fulfil your mother's dreams of One Big Happy Family … have lots of children while playing Quidditch ..."

She broke off with a sob as she turned away, "While I grew old and senile, pining away for a lost love ..." Susan didn't see the signs of an incipient Weasley blow-up in the steadily rising tide of red suffusing Ginny's face. "I didn't want that … I couldn't take that … I sneaked into your parents' rooms and found what I needed … switched the 'tea' when I left the Hall while you were '_consoling_' Harry..."

The building Weasley tantrum abruptly changed direction as Ginny parsed Susan's words – "You SNEAKED into MY parents' ROOMS? _WHY?_"

"Where do you think I got the potion, Ginevra?" Susan snarked back. "I knew your mother had them … I _knew_ she'd be trying to give them to Harry when Ron and Hermione disappeared!"

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?"

Susan rolled her eyes. "Oh please! Don't play dumb with me, Ginevra Weasley! Where do you think the twins got their _recipe_ for their products? Love potions are restricted … you won't find them in just any potions textbook. Where do you think _Ronald_ got his potions? Not from the Twins' shop, that's for sure – they don't last that long…"

Ginny blinked. "_Ron? _What does _Ron_ have to do with this?"

"Use your head," an exasperated Susan said. "How do you explain a boy who's been nothing but insulting to Hermione Granger since starting Hogwarts, who couldn't get his own date for the Yule Ball, who has the 'emotional range of a teaspoon' in fifth year, who _suddenly_ finds himself sucking face with Lavender Brown? Ask yourself this – why should _Lavender_ – quiet, ditzy, Divination-obsessed Lavender – _suddenly_ go all gaga over someone she _never_ gave a fig for in the last _six years?"_

"Why shouldn't she?" Ginny shouted back. She had totally forgotten her original intent in seeking Susan, responding as only a Weasley could to an attack on her family. "It's not as if he's still a git –" she shook her head at Susan's derisive snort – "he's a _hero_, Susan! He won the Quidditch Cup for us in his fifth year; he was with us in the Ministry when Harry faced down You-Know-Who, he, he –"

"And is all that enough to _change _Lavender Brown?"

The question stopped Ginny cold. She'd known Lavender for years – while the older girl could be ditzy, obsessed with all things 'girly' and an incorrigible gossip, the very _last_ thing she could see Lavender as was to be a fan-girl or a player. She shuddered at the memories of 'Won-Won' and Lavender during her fifth year – she'd been tempted, too many times, to hex the both of them for their 'displays of affection' that had too often bordered on the obscene and in public at that!

Susan had a point – it was too far out of character for the Lavender Brown she'd known for five years. It was just too abrupt, too _sudden_ even for raging teen hormones to account for. Not even the school's tension and fear as Voldemort stepped up his attacks could account for that … there was simply _no way_ for Lavender, ditzy, _girly_ Gossip Queen Lavender Brown, to have become so … so _obsessed_ with Ronald Bilius Weasley.

Ginny blinked as Susan's angry, sarcastic voice ripped through her: "Tell me _why_, Ginevra Weasley, why Hermione Granger – the one person who was most loyal to Harry Potter through all our school years – suddenly _turn_ on her best friend? Why should Hermione, who's been Ron's punching bag for _years_, who couldn't share the same _space_ with Ron without an argument, suddenly become so obsessed with that idiotic, self-centred _git? Tell me WHY, Ginny!_"

She couldn't answer that. It was something that transcended all logic – and to _Hades_ with all those who thought that Ron and Hermione's arguments masked a raging attraction for each other. _She_ never argued with Harry, or Dean, or Michael or even Neville … her _parents_ never fought the way those two often did – Molly, no matter her overbearing, 'my way or the highway' attitude, never openly argued with her dad. Meek, mild Arthur Weasley – it may seem that the Weasley patriarch was a meek lamb to Hurricane Molly but they **never** argued the way Ron and Hermione did.

Neither did Molly ever belittle Arthur the way Hermione sometimes did when Ron went too far with his thickness – and never once did Arthur ever pick an argument with his wife the way Ron did, just to wind Hermione up.

So why the sudden change in Hermione? And why the sudden anger with Harry over a second-hand book? It wasn't as if Harry was playing with another diary – she shuddered at the memory – and Hermione should have been over the moon when Harry suddenly started getting better at things…

Sudden.

_There_ was that word again … if there was one thing that marked her fifth year, Harry's sixth year, it was that singular word. _Everything_ was so _sudden_, as if some Divine Author said, "_This_ is how it goes" and everything simply fell into place with no foreshadowing or preparation. Lavender _suddenly_ obsessed with Ron, Hermione _suddenly_ preoccupied with Ron, Harry _suddenly_ fixated with her – and she, after having given up on him, _suddenly_ snogging The-Boy-Who-Lived.

It just all neatly fell into place.

But it couldn't be ... it could _not_ be. Ginny shook her head violently, trying to shake the traitorous thoughts from her mind. Last year was a fluke – last year they were all under so much pressure with the war knocking on the very walls of Hogwarts ... that was the reason why they'd been acting that way, right?

Hormones, she thought – they were letting their hormones get the better of them last year, right? They simply needed to snatch whatever little bit of happiness they could – and if Ron acting like a limpet as he sucked Lavender's face was what was needed to make him happy, he deserved it, right? Never mind if it felt wrong ... if the short weeks spent with Harry as her boyfriend felt so, so _wrong..._

"Suit yourself." Ginny blinked at Susan's sarcastic tone. "You should have been a Hufflepuff, Ginevra – you're all about loyalty to your family, no matter how wrong they are!"

"DON'T TALK ABOUT MY FAMILY THAT WAY!" Ginny's infamous temper snapped and the roar of her angry, hurt voice would have made her house mascot proud at its power and potency. She stalked forward, hand raised to strike, her red hair blowing in an unseen wind as her magical power seemed to flow through her, her vision tunnelling into a reddish haze –

And she froze at the triumphant look in Susan's eyes.

Like a kitchen sink unplugged, Ginny felt the rage and anger drain from her body – leaving her limp and shaking, wondering what had happened to her and why she should be defending her brother or her family against accusations that – no matter how she tried – seemed to be logical and accurate.

She blinked and dropped her hand to her side – and blinked again as she saw Susan's triumphant look fade away before she turned away with a sob. Unthinking, she approached, and grabbed her friend in a hug learned from years of Molly's rib-breaking embraces. For the briefest of moments, she felt Susan trying to break away before the older witch seemed to collapse into her arms ...

Without a conscious thought, she hugged the other girl even tighter as she buried her face into Susan's chest. She needed this, she thought wildly to herself, she needed Susan ... the unspoken words kept repeating in her bothered mind as two witches kept apart for so long finally acknowledged something that they had never wanted to admit to themselves ...

***

**DEPARTMENT OF MYSTERIES, MINISTRY OF MAGIC**

"That's strange," Kingsley Shacklebolt said as he stared at the blank page in front of him before he composed himself and said, in the same commanding tone, "SHOW ME RONALD WEASLEY!"

Nothing. There was no intense glow, no rapid riffling of pages – nothing. It was as if the book was totally inert or simply ignoring them and Shacklebolt's face was furrowed in thought as he murmured yet again, "That's very strange."

"Minister?" Hermione's hushed voice sang out, but she closed her mouth at Shacklebolt's raised arm. Once again, the Minister's commanding voice rang out: "SHOW ME REMUS LUPIN!"

This time the book went through its earlier actuations: the intense, nearly blinding glow, the sound and sight of an unseen hand riffling rapidly through its pages, the glow fading as it stopped at a particular page where the three could see:

**REMUS JOHN LUPIN NYMPHADORA TONKS-LUPIN**

Born: March 10, 1960 Born: June 25, 1973

_First Stage Completed: April 12, 1997_

_Soul Bond Consummated: June 25, 1997_

_Married: July 3, 1997_

Kingsley Shacklebolt heaved a sigh of relief, his soft murmur of, "Well that works," being drowned by the loud squeal of delight from Hermione, who was bouncing around in glee, clapping her hands and saying, "I knew it! I knew it!"

"What works?"

Harry's confused question had Hermione and Shacklebolt turning to him in surprise; Hermione immediately grabbed his hands and said, "Remus and Tonks, Harry! They're soul-bound ... they're soulmates! No wonder Tonks has been out of sorts..."

"I can see that, Hermione! But Shack was saying something ..." Harry's comment instantly deflated Hermione's glee and she also turned to Shackebolt, whose indulgent smile at her actuations also faded at the intense scrutiny Harry was giving him.

"I was saying the book works, Harry," the Minister said. He took a breath before explaining, "No one really knows how the book works, at least in how it determines and records the birth and significant dates of soulmate's lives.

"Consider Remus and Tonks," he continued, gesturing to the page. "They were born 13 years apart – Remus would already have been in Hogwarts when Tonks was born; did the book record Remus' and Tonks' births at the same time, or did the entry appear when Tonks was born?" He turned back to the book and turned the pages to the last leaf – coincidentally, the page after Remus and Tonks' entry, which was the blank page it had turned to when he said Hermione's name.

"And then there's this blank page ..."

"Oh!" Hermione's exhalation made Harry and Shacklebolt turn to her. Eyes wide, she explained her thoughts: "You're talking about the book's search function, aren't you? If a name mentioned has a soulmate, the book goes into action – the glow, the pages turning ... like what happened with Remus and Tonks. But if it doesn't, like what happened with Ron..."

"Precisely, Hermione. The book's reaction when I asked your name means that there _is_ something – but why should the page be blank? Does that mean you have a soul mate but he's just 'waiting in the wings,' so to speak? But if that is so, then why would Lucius Malfoy's magical marriage contract be denied?

"Something's going on here, but I don't know what."

Harry had been examining the page closely as Shacklebolt explained; there was something niggling at his mind about the smudge on the page. There was something familiar about it ... "Uhm, Shack? Would you mind doing that magnification thingy on that smudge?"

The former Auror gave him a sharp look; after a second's pause, he drew his wand and waved it over the smudge – and all three gaped as the smudged ink enlarged and became clearer, with Hermione exclaiming, "Is that a _beetle_?"

At first glance, it looked like a child's rendition of a mutated beetle: a circle with two branches growing out the top, two paw-like 'feet' on either side, and a somewhat thick, squiggly line below. Harry stared at it for a long moment, before he suddenly whispered in shock, "Marauders!"

Shacklebolt and Hermione's gasps of surprise was overridden by Harry's excited voice: "Don't you see it, Hermione? Sirius showed it to us once at Grimmauld – look! The branches are a stag's antlers – my Dad – the circle is a moon for Remus; the paws are a Grim's – Sirius – and the squiggly thing is a tail..."

"Wormtail!" Hermione whispered. Beside her, Shacklebolt was nodding; he was familiar with the legendary Marauders, having been two years behind them in school and was both victim and witness to their mischief, and had learned their identities from the time spent with Siriusin Grimmauld. But what was a Marauder logo doing here – "Elphias!" he murmured, causing the others to turn to him.

He grinned at them. "I don't know if you know it, but Elphias Doge – who was the Ministry's Head Archivist for years – was Remus' godfather."

Harry's bewildered "He was?" was overshadowed by Hermione's reaction: "If he was ... I'm assuming that he was an expert on documents, charms relating to them, and so on?"

At Shacklebolt's nod, she turned to Harry whose face was brightening as he caught up with Hermione's thoughts: "The Marauder's Map!"

Harry drew his wand and laid it on the blank page; a deep breath and he incanted softly, "I solemnly swear I'm up to no good!"

The three stepped back as a blue glow surrounded the parchment and words began to form, written in blue ink with a florid, Spencarian script. The three were silent as they read the words:

_Dear Harry:_

_If you're reading this, it means that I'm either on my next 'great adventure' with my old friend Albus or I just haven't made it back home yet. Anyway … to the reason why you're here._

_As I write this, the wizarding world is falling into darkness once again. Albus has fallen and many of us know that with our world in disarray, the Ministry will soon follow._

_As a former Ravenclaw, I have lived by the credo that 'knowledge is power' – denying people knowledge reduces their power. I have taken the liberty of compiling certain of your records, as well as those of your friends, and transmitted them by magical means to Hogwarts where they will form part of your student file. These include records from the Wizarding Examinations Authority as well as from the Improper Use of Magic Office, as well as the appropriate entry here._

_As a further precaution, I made sure that only a select few can access or even read the records. You or the delightful Ms. Granger should be able to work it out._

_It is my pleasure to have been of service to you._

_Elphias Doge_

_Head Archivist_

_P.S. It has always amused me to think of Severus and You-Know-Who as being on the same side; the muggles would have been shocked since they were bitter enemies, especially if You-Know-Who asks questions of him. ;)_

Harry Potter and Kingsley Shacklebolt looked at each other in confusion; Hermione, on the other hand, had a pensive look on her face as she pondered the last line. Especially the last symbols – why would Elphias Doge use a muggle smiley? And why a _winking_ smiley at that? What about the references to Snape and Voldemort? Or should it be Riddle ...

"Harry?" The two men looked at her and she smiled at her best friend. "I think I got it. We should go back to Hogwarts ... the Headmistress should be able to help us find your student file there."

Harry stared at her for a long, silent moment before he nodded and smiled; Shacklebolt, looking from one to the other, also nodded and turned away. Before he could walk back to the door, however, Harry's hesitant voice made him pause. "Uhm ... Minister, err, Shack ... uhm ... can I just ask..."

The Minister glanced at him and nodded; the three turned back to the now-closed book on its pedestal as he said, "You can ask, Harry ... my presence in the room allows it to react to anyone who wishes to ask."

Nodding, Harry opened his mouth but was stopped by Shacklebolt: "Use your mother's maiden name, Harry. It may confuse James' name with yours."

Nodding once again, Harry took a stance and intoned, "SHOW ME LILY EVANS!"

His look of eager anticipation quickly faded to disappointment when the book lay inert in its pedestal. He bit his lip as he stared at it, as if willing it to glow and open but he was to be denied. A pair of arms quickly encompassed him, however, and he found his face buried in the crook of Hermione's neck as her hands rubbed his back gently. Hermione spoke softly, "It's all right, Harry ... remember what the book said – they may not have been soul mates but they each found a heart to hold so dear..."

Harry sniffled as Shack laid a hand on his shoulder comfortingly. "She's right, Harry ... I was never close to your parents at school or in the Order but they were the best of friends when I knew them. They were the Golden Couple of Hogwarts when I was going there..."

Harry nodded and pulled away from Hermione's embrace, giving the two a watery smile. Just before he pulled away completely, however, he gave Hermione a small peck on the cheek causing the brunette witch to blush and Shacklebolt to smirk. He somehow doubted the two realized the significance of the fact that the page containing Elphias' note had reacted to Hermione's name but had been addressed to Harry. He felt his suspicions confirmed but, knowing Hermione, the young witch would want to have everything in black and white.

He was about to turn away when a soft cough from Hermione once again stopped him and he turned to nod to the eager witch. Hermione calmed herself down and called out in a clear voice, "SHOW ME ALBUS DUMBLEDORE!"

Shacklebolt blinked when the book again took on the intense glow that he'd become familiar with and the pages started turning over once again. He was about to approach when Harry and Hermione, who had stepped closer to the book, both nearly jumped back with a twin expression of "EWWWW!" on their faces.

Puzzled, he took a look at the opened page and also stepped back in surprise. Truth to tell, he _had_ been expecting something like this, but to have it spelled out so clearly:

**ALBUS PERCIVAL WULFRIC BRIAN DUMBLEDORE GELLERT GRINDELWALD**

Born: August 8, 1881 Born: July 7, 1883

Died: June 6, 1997 Died: February 14, 1998

_First Stage Completed: December 25, 1888_

_Soul Bond Consummated: January 28, 1889_

Carefully, silently, Minister of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt closed the Book of Souls, wondering for a moment just how Elphias Doge was able to remove a page. A part of him cringed at desecrating the magical artefact; another part wanted to protect the name and reputation of the one-time 'Leader of the Light.' It wasn't the relationship implied that bothered him – same-sex relationships while frowned upon were not unheard of in the wizarding world – but it was the juxtaposition of names which bothered him.

He shook his head – what the hell was he thinking about? Rita Skeeter's 'expose' of Dumbledore with all its half-truths and innuendoes had already besmirched Dumbledore's reputation; this, while a titillating confirmation, added nothing to what was already known. In any case, he doubted that either Harry or Hermione would even talk about this; as far as he was concerned, he wasn't about to tamper with history or its artefacts.

"Ready to go, kids?" he asked. At the nods of the two teens, he turned and led the way from the room; the torches gradually dimming as they walked out the door.

Just as he closed the door of the chamber, a much more intense glow surrounded the Book of Souls as a new page was added, out of sight of anyone.

***

**THE ASTRONOMY TOWER, HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY**

It was a sight guaranteed to melt even the hardest of hearts, although the follow-up reaction to that first sight would depend entirely on any particular person's open-mindedness and acceptance. Two young witches, one much shorter than the other and with a fiery mane of hair, were locked in a tight embrace, swaying slowly as they held the other closely.

The storm of tears had passed but they both needed the comfort of the embrace as they tried to resolve the issues raised by their earlier war of words. A sniffling Ginny spoke, her voice muffled by her face still ensconced in the tear-soaked robes of Susan Bones: "Why, Susan? After everything we've been through ... why potion Harry? You know as well as I do that using love potions is an Azkaban offense ... _why, Susan?_"

"Do you think I care, Ginny?" Susan's voice, so emotional and angry, was now flat – lifeless and dull, no hint at all of the raging passion of before. "After everything that has happened, d'you think I really care anymore? Whoever's orchestrating this will have their happy ending – Ron and Hermione will be married, you and Harry will wed; the four of you will meet up on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters to see your kids off to Hogwarts; Harry will be telling his children that he'll be proud of them even if they get placed in Slytherin...

"And I will be gone, just a footnote to the tale." She broke away from Ginny's arms and stared out over the expansive Hogwarts grounds, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I can't go through that again, Ginny, I can't ... I'd rather _die_ than go through that again...

She turned to face Ginny, the sunlight at her back turning her fair hair into a golden halo as tears fell down her sunken cheeks, a pleading tone in her voice. "That's what I was hoping for ... if Harry or your mother found out, they have every right to kill me or send me to Azkaban. Either way I'd be free ... free of this world, free of my memories ... I'd be with Mum and Dad, with Aunt Amelia..."

She felt gentle hands turning her around and brushing the tears from her face, a trail of liquid fire in their wake and her eyes locked with the worried and deeply puzzled eyes of Ginny Weasley. There was no guile in those eyes, no deviousness or deceit – just plain, honest confusion at her ranting. Mixed in with the confusion, however, she could clearly see a compassionate apprehension for her welfare. It was something she'd come to associate with Ginny during the hours spent in the library the year before and again, in the long days and nights of her recovery in Muriel's home. It was something that Susan knew so few people had ever seen in the petite redhead's eyes, an emotion too often kept hidden behind her fiery temper or focused concentration as she worked out a problem or planned another prank.

It was the genuine look of concern for her well-being that had drawn Susan completely out of the dark fog of depression last year – and it was the loss of that 'look' when Ginny was obliviated that forced her back into the dark depression that was her constant companion. It was that look which she had come to cherish once again when Fate or whatever chose to throw the two of them together again – and it was the fear of losing that which pushed Susan into rash and unthinking action.

With an inarticulate cry, Susan's hands reached out behind Ginny's head and pulled her in – if she was going to die, it would be with the memory of Ginny's lips on her own that would be the last thought on her mind.

Ginny's mind was a roiling mass of confused thoughts and emotions. On the one hand, her logical mind kept battering at the points that Susan had made, trying feverishly to find a flaw, to find a niche – _something _on which to build a counterattack against the charges made against her older brother and her mother.

On the other hand, there was the sensation of liquid warmth emanating from where her fingers were touching Susan's face, coursing through her arms and seeming to pool into a tiny ball of flame in her chest before tendrils of fire sprang from the heat in her chest and spread throughout her body – twin lines of flame reaching from her chest, passing through her neck and flowing into her brain.

She felt a pressure on the back of her head and realized, through the fog enveloping her mind, that Susan's hands were there – and felt her head being pulled forward ... she knew what was happening but there was no resistance on her part. There was no way that she would deny her friend – the one she'd killed for, the one she'd nursed to health, the one she cared for so deeply – this one simple wish that she could read in Susan's teary eyes, and Ginny turned her head willingly to meet the lips descending on her.

As soft lips came together, a soft golden glow surrounded them – a glow which grew in seeming intensity the longer their lips were in contact. Neither one noticed Ginny's hair turning into a fiery golden halo that rivalled the sun above them and would have caused anyone looking to turn away lest their eyes melt from the power of the light.

As the kiss deepened and intensified, flashes of memory burned through the blocks imposed on Ginny's mind by a well-practiced hand – sitting in the Hogwarts library with Susan as she studied, at first sitting across from each other but later sitting side by side ... the two of them rolling around laughing over some joke or other, protected from the glares of Madam Pince the librarian by Susan's 'cone of silence' – a special spell found only in the Bones' Family grimoire and taught to Susan by her Aunt Amelia ... a dark and depressing afternoon when rains had lashed Hogwarts' walls and she found herself opening up about her fears and concerns ... that one special night, just before the library had closed, when they both realized that they'd been studying while holding hands the whole time ... and that moment when their faces were inches from each other, something within them drawing them closer – only for the mood to be broken by Madam Pince's announcement that the library was about to close...

The memories cascaded through Ginny's mind as their kiss continued and she now realized why so many moments in Muriel's house with Susan seemed to imbue her with a sense of _déjà vu_ – she'd shared many of the same moments and talks with Susan, months before in the Hogwarts library ... at a time before she was Obliviated of her memories ...

Soon enough, air was an issue for the two witches and they broke apart, chests heaving as they sucked in much needed oxygen. Ginny's face was streaked with tears as she stared at her soul mate, her mind battered by the revelations which the bond had burned through – horrified at what had transpired months before, shamed at all the time they had both lost and a slowly building anger at what had been done to them.

"Oh Susan," she whispered and found herself once again in the tight embrace of her best friend and now-revealed soul mate. Ginny buried her face again in Susan's tear soaked robes, and felt Susan's lips on her hair. She felt herself being rocked slowly, comfortingly by the older witch, encouraging words being murmured into her ears ... and felt droplets of tears falling on her hair ...

The two witches had been far too engrossed in each other to realize that a scuffle had broken out to one side of the Astronomy Tower as two disillusioned figures reacted to the scene playing out before them. If the disillusionment had broken, they would have seen an angry quarter-Veela grabbing the collar of her red-faced husband and throwing him bodily back against the ramparts of the tower – thankfully, she still retained enough presence of mind to have cast a cushioning charm against the ancient walls.

Fleur Delacour-Weasley was now sitting astride her husband's chest with her knees pinning his arms down; she was bent over and whispering harshly in his ear, having cast a silencing charm around them as she explained certain facts to Bill.

They were too engrossed in what they were doing – as were Ginny and Susan – to realize that the door leading out from the Astronomy Tower had opened and a short, plump, red-haired witch had stepped through, only to turn away from the blinding glow surrounding the two young witches on the tower.

She turned back when the glow had dissipated and realized who it was who'd been at the centre of that glow and, as had so often happened to her, found her mouth acting before her brain could kick in: "WHAT IN HADES IS GOING ON HERE?"

***

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **My apologies for not having updated sooner. As always, real life had to rear its ugly head; this combined with a confused muse who kept jumping around from one plot bunny to another, conspired to delay this.

I would like to express my thanks and appreciation to **hlpur**, from whom I borrowed (with her permission) the idea and explanation for soulmates and the Book of Souls. She has written some of the most original and thought-provoking H/Hr tales around; unfortunately, she hasn't been able to update her stories for some time. I hope she can update soon :)


	6. Chapter 6

**GRACE AUX MALFOYS**

**STANDARD DISCLAIMER:** Harry Potter and associated characters are the property of JK Rowling, various publishers as well as Warner Bros. and others. I don't make money from this but am more than grateful to have an opportunity to play in someone else's sandbox.

**Chapter 6**

**THE ASTRONOMY TOWER, HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY**

"WHAT IN HADES IS GOING ON HERE?"

It was only Ginny's quick thinking and conflict-trained reflexes kicking in that prevented Molly Weasley from getting hexed or worse by a pumped-up, adrenalin driven Susan Bones. The first few words were more than enough for the teen witch to recognize the raised, angry, harsh voice of her mother – in the next instant, she had grabbed Susan's wand hand tightly and forced it down; she had also – inadvertently – stepped on Susan's toes which, fortuitously, broke the latter's concentration and stopped the silent incantation from making its way from brain to magical core and discharging the energy through her wand.

Unfortunately, while Ginny's actions may have kept her mother from being hexed, it did not stop the Unsinkable Molly Weasley from going into a full-fledged tantrum. Red-faced, eyes blazing, Molly sailed into the tower like a majestic man o'war, all guns blazing – a full-voice bellow that would have put a Sonorus to shame: "UNHAND MY DAUGHTER, YOU HARLOT! WHAT THE HADES ARE YOU TRYING TO PULL? POISONING MY RONALD THEN TRYING TO SEDUCE MY DAUGHTER? HAVE YOU NO SHAME YOU, YOU SLUT?"

The Susan Bones that most of Hogwarts once knew would have curled into a ball at the verbal barrage and cried – or at the very least, would have been running from the Astronomy Tower in tears, to hide behind the curtains of her bed while she bawled her eyes out.

This Susan Bones however was not the quiet Hufflepuff that Harry and the others once knew. This was a Susan Bones who'd been forged and tempered in the fires of war – the last of the Valiant House of Bones, who'd refused to be evacuated from Magical Britain when Voldemort took over and been part of the Resistance since. This Susan Bones let loose her own broadside at the approaching dreadnought: "SHAME? YOU TALK TO ME OF SHAME, MOLLY WEASLEY? YOU, WHO'S BEEN DOSING HARRY AND GINNY WITH LOVE POTIONS? YOU, WHO'S BEEN SUPPLYING RON WITH POTIONS SO HE CAN FINALLY SNOG A GIRL? YOU CALL ME SHAMELESS – WHAT DO YOU CALL YOURSELF?"

The counter-barrage by HMS Molly made the Weasleys in the Tower (Ginny and the still-disillusioned Bill and Fleur) blink. In all the years Ginny and Bill knew their mother and listened to her tantrums, they never _ever_ heard her using _that_ word: "WHAT THE F—K ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT, YOU HUSSY?"

Ginny wasn't sure what to do – her mother's entrance into the tower had caught her by surprise, immersed as she was in the fog of ecstasy caused by finally kissing her now-revealed soulmate and she was still reeling from the disjointed memories that had been Obliviated from her but was now breaking through. Stopping Susan from hexing her mother had been pure instinct, just as keeping her mouth shut in the face of a Molly-tantrum was an ingrained survival response in the Weasley family – but Susan's broadside and her mother's response had her wondering if she should be selling popcorn …

Her thoughts were interrupted as Susan forcefully but gently pushed her to one side; it was only then that she realized that she'd been standing in front of the older girl, unconsciously adopting a protective stance – a detail it was apparent her mother had not noticed, so focused was she on the buxom Susan. She was about to move again, to place herself between Susan and her mother but Susan's hand on her shoulder stopped her – and blinked as Susan reached into her robes with her other hand and pulled out an amber bottle with an embossed hops plant and berries on the front – a family heirloom, Ginny knew, that her mother and at least a dozen Prewett matriarchs before Molly had used to store potions in …

It was apparent that Molly knew what it was – the sight of it stopped her ranting and she stood there with eyes wide, mouth open in surprise as Susan sneered in a manner so reminiscent of Snape that Ginny blinked, "And what do you call _this_? I got it from your room you … you..."

For the briefest of instants, the image of a raging bull – beady eyes, nostrils flaring – flashed through Ginny's mind as her mother roared, "THAT'S HARRY'S NUTRITIONAL POTION, YOU IMBECILE! WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU GOT IT FROM MY ROOM? WHAT GAVE YOU THE RIGHT TO GO INTO MY ROOM?!"

Unthinking, Ginny braced herself for the charge – prepared herself to block or stun, to hex or jinx, to do something to protect her love from her maddened mother. Before Molly could move, however, Susan unstoppered the bottle and waved it under Molly's nose – Ginny got a whiff and froze, mouth open in shock, eyes wide in surprise, staring at her mother who now looked like a bull who'd taken a mallet between the eyes.

"Amortentia."

Molly's whisper and the look of stunned surprise on her face was not what Susan was expecting. Fierce denial – she expected that. Loud protestations of innocence – she was ready for that. Grab the bottle, throw it, smash it, blast it – she had anticipated all of that.

A visibly shaken, pasty-faced Molly, swaying on her feet as her mouth flopped soundlessly – _that_ she definitely was not expecting.

As Susan watched, gaping, Molly's face changed as blood began rushing back, suffusing her face with a bright-red flush that made Ginny's hair look pale by comparison – the raging bull was back and ready to charge.

Before Molly could move or say a word, Susan's wand was in her hand as she said, looking Molly in the eyes, "I swear on my life and magic that I found this bottle in Mrs. Weasley's room, that I have not switched its contents and only used the potions found therein. So mote it be."

Ginny screamed as a golden nimbus surrounded Susan briefly, only to fade to reveal a still breathing and smug Susan Bones. A casual wave of her wand released a shower of gold and red sparks as she glared at Molly, the challenge clear in her eyes.

Only to blink as Molly pointed her wand in the air and declared, "I swear on my life and magic that I have never brewed or used love potions, mind-control or influence potions on Harry Potter or his friends. So mote it be."

Susan and Ginny gaped as the same golden nimbus erupted around Molly and, as the glow faded, watched a sneering Molly Weasley wave her wand negligently, causing a fountain of red and gold sparks to erupt from her wand even as she cast a Molly-patented trademark glare at the stunned Susan Bones.

The two witches glowered, neither one giving way or blinking – until Ginny's whispered voice broke the frozen tableau: "If neither of you brewed or switched the love potions ... who did?"

Two strong-willed witches blinked and stared at the young witch, mouths flapping in perfect synchronization as they tried to figure out what Ginny meant. Molly's confused expression, however, quickly turned distant and unseeing – her round face turning pasty-white again for the briefest of moments before a tidal wave of red inundated her face even as her breathing deepened, her fists clenched as she roared, "ARTHUR MARION WEASLEY, I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!"

The shocked teens could only gape; neither could move as Molly started to turn, apparently planning to apparate out – only for a red bolt to appear out of nowhere and Stun the raging Molly in her tracks. As Molly fell, she stopped in mid-air only to float gently to the ground, still out cold.

Susan and Ginny were standing back to back, wands up and tracking when a familiar baritone voice broke out – "SPARK PLUG!"

It was the Weasley recognition signal – something that no pureblood Death Eater would know or even bother about and they relaxed their grip on their wands, even as Bill and Fleur cancelled their Disillusionment Charms and approached, empty hands out. As Ginny jumped into her older brother's arms, Susan caught Fleur's eyes and nodded, receiving a nod in return; turning back to the embracing siblings, she sighed as she heard Bill say, "All right ... what in the name of Merlin IS GOING ON HERE?"

***

**DEPARTMENT OF MYSTERIES, THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC**

It was a sombre trio who exited the enigmatic room at the heart of the Department of Mysteries. All three were walking like mindless automatons, instinct and well-remembered actions dictating their every move: Minister Shacklebolt leading the way and opening the door to the corridor outside the chamber; Harry and Hermione finding each other's hands intuitively; all three deep in thought at the revelations that the room held and revealed as they walked towards the lift.

In Harry's mind, the singular question besetting him was 'WHY?' If, as Dumbledore had said all those many months ago, that the room they'd just left contained 'the power that Voldemort knows not' ... then why was he never brought there? There had been more than enough opportunities in his sixth year. It would have taken less than a day to get there and back to where ever – they could have gone here after Dumbledore fetched him from the Dursleys; there was more than enough time during the summer when he was staying at the Burrow – hell, they could have gone there at any time during the school year, rather than wasting so much time with Quidditch, with fighting Hermione over the Half-Blood Ponce's book, or his 'lessons' with Dumbledore and the pensieved memories on Tom Marvolo Riddle.

That there was something there for him, there could be no doubt – Doge's note to him made that abundantly clear. That it had a major bearing on his quest to defeat the Dark Dork was also clear – else why should the Head Archivist go to such lengths to conceal it? And if what he suspected was true – that the page in question referred to a soul bond with the girl beside him – then why keep the fact away from him?

Unless ... the 'information' referred to a _soul_ bond between him and Ronald Bilius Weasley.

As soon as the thought came up, he batted it away – much like the Twins would do to a Bludger. No _way_ on the Lord's good earth was _that_ meant to be. Kingsley's first question of the Book was to show him Hermione's name, which led to that intriguing blank page, right? The Book _responded_ to Hermione's name and led to that page with the Head Archivist's hidden note. It didn't respond to Ron's name – which meant that Ron didn't have a soul mate, right? Which meant that neither he or Hermione was soul-bound to the git, right?

Right.

He didn't realize that he'd been tensing up, or that he was in the beginning stages of hyperventilation as his mind ranted, until a soft squeeze of the hand held in Hermione's quickly calmed his distraught mind.

Enough, he thought. It was all over and done with – Voldemort was dead, the horcruxes were destroyed, he and Hermione were alive, he had the rest of his life to live with the wonderful girl at his side. Reflexively, he gave the hand in his a slight squeeze and grinned at the raised eyebrow that Hermione cast at him.

Hermione's thoughts, on the other hand, were a world away from the wizard beside her – well, half a world away and Down Under, to be precise. Now that the war was over, it was time to start thinking about the future ... and time to bring her parents back home. The question, however, was ... back to what? She hadn't gone back to her childhood home in almost a year; she didn't want to take the risk of Death Eaters or Snatchers watching the place and capturing them. She wasn't even sure if the place was still standing ... true, her parents had the option of selling the place but she'd begged them not to. There was just too big a risk that Voldemort's forces would find out her address and strike there – and since those idiots wouldn't know one muggle from another, there was just too big a risk that they'd capture, torture and kill some other innocent muggle family whether or not they were related to her.

The question was whether her mum and dad would even _want _to go back. They'd been talking about Australia for years, thinking of it as a possible retirement haven or simply an extended adventure in a place they'd never been to before.

She hoped they were happy and would be glad to see her; the question, however, was whether they would be as accepting of the wizard beside her. No way around it, she thought. They may not like it but they would have no choice ... she wondered if Harry would be joining her on this trip and she grinned. Why not, she thought? Consider it a vacation of sorts...

Her mental planning was derailed, however, as she sensed Harry's inner turmoil; without a thought, she gave his hand a soft squeeze and smiled slightly when she felt him relax. A few more moments and she felt him squeezing her back; raising an eyebrow at him, she cleared her thoughts and focused, once again, on the warmth of the hand in hers.

Shacklebolt's thoughts, however, was no longer on the room that they'd just left. The soul bond between Grindelwald and Dumbledore was, in the end, a mere footnote to history. Both were now dead and (he hoped) happily sharing their next great adventure together ... as far as he was concerned, however, he had the aftermath of the mess left behind by He-Who-Is-Now-Dead to deal with. Much as he wanted to see the end oyof this tale, there was just too much to do in his office.

He had to admit that spending time with Harry and Hermione had been fun; it gave him a few hours away from his desk and the steadily increasing piles of paperwork and seemingly insurmountable problems of bringing magical Britain back to normal – or what was 'normal' before the Dork Lord took over the place. Unfortunately, it was time for him to head for his office and get back to work. He'd ask the two to keep him informed but he didn't think he would need to join them in their quest at Hogwarts...

There was just too much work to be done.

And here was more work right now, he thought as the lift doors opened on Level Four and he saw the red hair, narrow face and pinched expression of Percy Weasley, who he'd appointed only two days before to head the Goblin Liaison Office. He sighed to himself at seeing the happy look of recognition on Percy's face – another day, another Galleon, he thought.

What was he thinking, accepting this thankless job? Or was he even thinking at all?

"Minister," Percy's officious voice broke through his reverie. "I was just on my way up to..."

He gaped at the sight of Harry and Hermione with Kingsley. Percy's pinched look gave way to delighted recognition and he extended his hand automatically, saying, "Harry! It's good to see you!"

They shook hands amicably, having made amends in the days immediately following the final battle; Percy admitting that he'd been a prick and apologizing profusely and Harry gracefully accepting the apology.

Percy's eyes focused on Hermione and with a big grin, he said, "Hermione! May I be the first to express my congratulations..." He looked around, confused. "Where's Ron?"

Harry, Hermione and Shacklebolt glanced at each other; Hermione decided to take the bull by the horns and told the middle Weasley brother, "There's been some misunderstanding, Percy. Someone played a prank on Ron and I; we're here with the Minister to try and sort it out." She finished by handing Percy the magical contract with its blazing red 'DENIED,' to which Percy gaped before muttering, "Oh no ... mum's not gonna like this, oh no she won't, she's not gonna like this one bit..."

He shook his head and took a deep breath. "Mum's gonna go spare when she finds out, Hermione." He sighed before continuing, "you know how she goes on and on about her One Big Happy Weasley Family with you and Harry as part of us."

"I know, Percy," Hermione said softly. "But just because I'm not married to Ronald doesn't mean that I don't think of you guys as family."

Percy smiled and shrugged. "You know Mum and her ideas. If I told her once, I told her a thousand times that you and Ron would never work out." He grinned at their surprised looks, "Helllloooo – Firebolt, anyone? Remember, I was there when Ron went spare on you, Hermione – and it wasn't even _his_ broomstick in the first place."

His face darkened at the memory. "I was sitting there when you started to apologize to Hermione, Harry." Again he grinned at their surprised looks, "You were talking Arithmancy with Hermione when Ron came down screaming about Hermione's cat eating his rat."

He paused. "It wasn't even his rat in the first place. But that's Ron for you."

The other three didn't respond; they knew who really 'owned' the rat but there was no use raking over old tales. Percy, however, was smirking as a thought struck: "You know, the only reason I can think of for a magical marriage contract coming out 'denied' is if one of the couple was already married."

His eyes twinkled. "You two wouldn't happen to be keeping something from us, are you?"

The sound of the lift doors opening effectively cut off any response; as the four stepped out to the corridor leading to the Minister's office, Shacklebolt's rumbling voice resonating in the empty corridors: "You were looking for me, Percy?"

Percy immediately snapped to attention, his face flushing at the realization that he'd spent precious time chatting on personal matters rather than going straight to business.

"My apologies, Minister, although it is good that Harry's here also." He took a breath before continuing. "Director Ragnok of Gringotts requests an urgent meeting with Harry Potter and asks that the Minister also be in attendance to discuss matters of mutual benefit and profit. He asked, however, that the meeting be held on 'neutral grounds' as soon as possible."

At the surprised look on Harry's face, he shrugged. "That's what they told me, Harry, in those exact words. I tried to find out more but they kept saying that they had to meet with you."

A sibilant sigh escaped Harry's lips and he mumbled, "Probably wants restitution for the dragon we stole and the damage to his precious bank."

A soft snicker escaped the Minister's lips but this was cut off by Percy's 'officious' voice: "Maybe but I'm not sure, Harry. If that's all he wanted, he'd have simply sent you a bill and taken the gold out of your vault. He wouldn't be calling for a meeting – neither would he ask for the presence of the Minister."

Harry noticed that Hermione and Shacklebolt were nodding; with an exasperated sigh, he agreed. "Fine, I'll meet with him –" he glanced at Shacklebolt – "if the Minister is willing?"

At the Minister's nod, he continued, "Please extend my compliments to the Director, Percy, and request that – if it is convenient and he is agreeable – that we have dinner at Hogwarts tonight."

"Hogwarts?"

"He specified 'neutral grounds,' Percy, and that means Hogwarts. It has always been considered neutral grounds by the Goblin nation, where the Goblins and the Ministry signed one of the treaties between them in the 1700s, I think … probably with Binns as a witness."

He blinked at the surprised expressions on their faces and rolled his eyes. "Hey, I can read. There wasn't much that I could do while sitting around a tent last year …" He glanced at Hermione and looked away; both teens unconsciously biting their lips as they tried to keep the blood from rushing to their faces – a fact that caused both the Minister and Percy to grin lasciviously before wiping the smiles off their faces.

Percy took over. "All right. Let me get in touch with the Headmistress first, though … she may not appreciate a horde of goblins descending on the castle without warning. I'll floo her…"

"Use my office, Percy," the Minister interrupted him. "We're closer there, anyway – no need for you to head for your office when we're right here. Harry and Hermione are going to Hogwarts anyway …"

Percy nodded; without a word, the four continued walking down the corridor towards the Minister's office, Percy and the teens unconsciously dropping behind the designated leader of the magical world. As they walked, Percy (obviously casting around for something to say), said, "Harry? Dad was telling me that you and some others went down to the Chamber of Secrets?"

The party stopped walking as they reached Shacklebolt's office as the suddenly embarrassed teen replied, "Uhm, yeah … I wasn't thinking straight, I thought that Hermione had been dragged down there…"

"The Chamber of Secrets? And I missed it? I've always wanted to take a look…"

A suddenly oppressive silence permeated the place as Shacklebolt, Percy and Harry stared, wide-eyed, at the suddenly-flustered Hermione Granger. She stood there shocked, pale-faced, fist in her mouth as she mumbled, "I shouldn't ha' said that … I shouldn't ha' said that."

***

**ARITHMANCY CLASSROOM, HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY **

It was a mingled sense of comfort and loss that Bill felt as he stood in the classroom where he'd spent four of his Hogwarts years, part of the course track needed to fulfil his dream to be a curse breaker. It was the first place that popped into mind when they'd decided to leave the Astronomy Tower where the sun beating down was making it uncomfortable to stay.

They were all familiar with the place: Fleur, Ginny and Susan had all taken Arithmancy here – Fleur during her stay in the castle during the Tri-Wizard, Ginny and Susan opting for Arithmancy as electives in their third year rather than opt for the 'wooly art of Divination'.

He felt arms snaking around his waist and he smiled sadly, grateful for the support he felt from his wife and wondering – yet again – how his life had become so complicated. A soft squeeze and he turned around, glancing at the people in the room.

Molly was still out cold, lying on the fainting couch that Fleur had conjured when she side-along Apparated Molly here; Bill was torn between enervating her now or waiting for nature to take its course. He shook his head ... both he and Fleur had thought that Molly's sudden appearance at the Astronomy Tower would have provided answers but the confrontation with Susan had only brought more questions to the fore.

Most especially, her final outburst before Fleur had stunned her ... he couldn't decide whether Molly was really gunning for Arthur over something he had no idea about or she was using Arthur as an excuse to get away.

Her witches' oath, however, indicated that there was something going on ... he could only hope that they found answers soon and that those answers would not tear his family apart.

He shifted his gaze to one side and smiled, sadly. Ginny and Susan were cuddled on an oversized, overstuffed armchair that Susan had transfigured. Ginny was on Susan's lap, her face resting against Susan's chest, seemingly asleep ... poor kid, he thought to himself. She hadn't had an easy time of it – victim of a near possession in her first year, subjected to manipulations in her fifth, and then months under the enemy's thumb for her sixth.

True, she showed the courage, grit and determination of a true Gryffindor in the past year – but what was the use of all that when you were denied your soul mate for over a year? Worse was the manipulation of being forced into a relationship with Harry – someone she and the Weasleys as a whole considered a part of their family.

It was a relief to Bill that Ginny had not been a part of that manipulation – she owed a life-debt to Harry over Riddle's diary and he shuddered at the thought of how magic would react if Ginny had been a willing part of the plot to bring Harry and her together using love potions. _That_ would have constituted a betrayal of the highest order and while Bill was sure that Harry would easily forgive and forget, he wasn't sure if magic would be satisfied and would not require its' due.

Susan, on the other hand ... He'd gotten to know the young Hufflepuff somewhat during the months she spent recovering in Muriel's home and found her to be a witty, sharp but humble person who hid a core of steel behind her innate gentleness and "Hufflepuffiness."

They'd spent some time when Susan was recovering to discuss various things; to his surprise, Susan was well-versed in financial matters and dealing with Gringotts – which was explained by the fact that Susan had been – and was now – the presumptive head of the Valiant House of Bones. Maybe not as wealthy or prestigious as the Potters or Blacks, but still a well-respected house in the wizarding world.

"They look good together, bro." The soft voice of his younger brother Charlie startled him for a moment but he relaxed and nodded although (in his mind) he was shaking his head at Charlie's easy acceptance of Susan and Ginny's relationship.

Maybe because they'd spent years out of the stifling atmosphere of British magical society, Bill thought. He'd been posted to Cairo soon after graduation from Hogwarts and acceptance by Gringotts; Charlie, on his part, had moved to the Dragon Preserve in Romania soon after _his_ graduation from Hogwarts.

Being out of the country had definitely broadened their horizons; Bill had to admit to himself that if he had stayed on in Britain after graduation, he'd have run screaming the first time Fleur batted her eyelashes at him – that or become a drooling, brainless gob of goo rather than the suave, sophisticated man he was when he and Fleur met at Gringotts London and he volunteered to help with her 'Eenglish lessons."

Charlie, on the other hand, admitted that 'it takes all kinds' to be able to work at the dragon preserve and that he'd had his share of workmates who'd batted for other teams. At the end of the day, Charlie told Ginny and Susan, it was one's competence and capability that mattered, not whether there was something dangling between one's legs.

"Although," Charlie had smirked at them, "I've known girls with two big brass ones facing down a hungry Horntail – while those who actually have balls fainted the first time Norbert looks at them!"

The comment had earned Charlie a smack from Ginny and a thankful grin from Susan, endearing his brother to both girls and helping settle them down when he showed up in response to Bill's messenger-Patronus, calling Charlie to this room.

Bill glanced up at a flicker of movement across the room and sighed as he watched the last two occupants of the room talking in low tones. Charlie caught his look and sighed also; clamping a large, callused hand on his brother's shoulder he murmured, "It's all right, bro ... you didn't really have a choice."

Bill nodded wryly as he looked at Tonks and Remus. There was really no option, he knew – the recent revelations and its implications were so far outside his experience and expertise that there was no real choice – he needed help and these two could provide it.

He could only be grateful that he'd had a chance to work closely with both which allowed them all a little space outside 'official and legal' posturing. Right now, Tonks was merely Tonks – an old friend from the Order of the Phoenix, not Senior Auror Nymphadora Tonks-Lupin of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Beside her was Remus Lupin, again a friend from 'the old crowd' but here as the last Marauder, the last of James Potter's friends and unofficial Godfather of the Boy-Who-Won, representing Harry's interest – and not Senior Auror (designate) Remus Lupin of DMLE.

He had no choice, he repeated silently to himself. His first thought was to call a family council – an idea quickly dismissed because family members were involved – hell, only Percy and the Twins apparently had no part in whatever was going on.

Much as he would like to keep things 'in the family' as it were, there was really no option – they needed outside help for this and they could only be grateful that Tonks and Remus were willing to hold off doing things 'officially' until things were sorted out.

A low moan caught his attention and he hurried to his mother's side, helping a groaning Molly sit up while Fleur conjured a glass filled with ice-cold water. Bleary-eyed, Molly accepted the glass and drank it down quickly before handing it back – and blinked when she realized who it was in front of her.

"Bill? Fleur? What – ?" Her eyes widened in surprise as she spotted Charlie to one side – and widened even more as she espied Susan and her daughter. Her eyes narrowed to slits at the sight and everyone in the room tensed – when Molly jumped to her feet, hexes were on their lips, held off only because she was without her wand and clearly swaying on her feet.

With palpable effort, Molly drew herself up as she took in a deep breath. Hands out and wandless, she took a tottering step closer to the narrow-eyed and tense Susan and Ginny before she stopped in front of them.

Looking straight at Susan, she spoke: "Susan Amelia Bones, I wish to extend my apologies for over reacting and making wanton accusations without basis or thought. In my defence I wish to point out that I was acting only as a mother should..."

Susan was also on her feet, Ginny standing with her, arms wrapped around the older girl's waist. "Apology accepted, Mrs. Weasley. I should also apologize for my precipitate actions which, while intending no harm to your son –"

The loud crack of apparition made everyone in the room jump – Bill's wand was in Arthur's face before anyone could even blink.

Arthur's hands were up although one hand firmly held his wand, an action they had all gotten used to from months on the run and the late Moody's 'CONSTANT VIGILANCE!' echoing in their ears.

When Bill realized who it was, he stepped back even as Arthur shouted 'Spark plug!' which caused the others to lower their wands. "I got your message, Bill and came as quickly as I could. Now what's ... Molly?"

The surprise on the Weasley patriarch's face was typically Arthur, a look that all the Weasleys knew quite well. They (including Tonks and Remus) grinned as the older man gaped from person to person – until his eyes came on his daughter with her arms around Susan Bones.

"GET AWAY FROM THAT SLUT, GINNY! NO CHILD OF MINE'S GONNA TURN FREAK ON ME!"

It was shocking. It was stunning. It caught everyone in the room by surprise to see the normally mild-mannered Arthur in a towering rage that they all froze. It was the sight of Arthur grabbing Ginny's collar and tugging it forcefully that unlocked their limbs and mouths – Bill and Charlie shouting "DAD!"; Ginny squeaking in shock and fear; Tonks and Remus stepping from the window –

"SMACK!"

The sound of a meaty hand meeting flesh froze everyone in their tracks, only to be followed by a well-remembered roar: "ARTHUR WEASLEY! YOU LAY ONE _HAND _ON MY DAUGHTER AND I SWEAR –"

Whatever it was that Molly was to swear to was forgotten as Arthur's wand pointed unerringly at Susan even as he roared, "SECTUM – meep!" followed by a whimper as he rolled into a foetal position, hands between his legs even as Remus, Bill and Charlie winced and felt their knees knocking together.

A wandless Molly had reacted instinctively at Arthur's move – unthinking, she'd reacted as she'd often done to an escaping gnome in her garden – by kicking out with all her weight behind her foot.

The red bolt of a Stunning Curse splashed into Arthur from behind, fired by either Tonks or Remus, effectively silencing the painful yell building in Arthur's throat and throwing him into blissful unconsciousness.

A horrified Molly was on her knees beside her husband, wailing as tears coursed down her cheeks: "Oh Arthur, you stupid, stupid _man! WHY CAN'T YOU LET THEM GO? WHY CAN'T YOU LET THEM BE?_"

It was Bill's shout of "MUM!" combined with a vigorous shake of her shoulders that finally stopped Molly's wails, leaving her sniffling and shaken as she stared at her husband. Bill knelt beside her, an arm around her as he tried to help her stand even as questions escaped his lips: "Mum? What's going on? What do you mean ... what did Dad mean?"

Molly appeared not to hear him as she sniffled in his arms, "I'm sorry, Gideon ... I'm sorry, Fabian ... I thought Arthur was over it ..."

The Weasley siblings and Remus glanced at each other in confusion; there was only one thing they could associate with Molly's words: her brothers Gideon and Fabian, both killed during Voldemort's first rise to power.

Remus knew them through the Order of the Phoenix: stocky twins with red hair and infectious grins, quick to laughter and with deep belly laughs, prone to pranks and jokes but – they'd been remarkably reticent whenever the Marauders tried to exchange notes about their pranks at Hogwarts. Both Gid and Fabian brushed them off, saying they were more serious during their Hogwarts days.

It had led to some suspicion at the time but they were Molly's brothers ... all suspicion died the day they were killed by Voldemort's forces.

Of the siblings, only Bill and Charlie had any memory of their uncles – but these were vague impressions of two large, laughing men who'd tossed them in the air when they were small ... Bill remembered being told that they had 'died like heroes' when he was five or six years old – it suddenly struck him that he remembered them only in the company of a lot of other people. He could never remember them spending time in the Burrow ... and, he suddenly realized, not a word had ever escaped Arthur's lips about Gideon and Fabian Prewett.

It was Ginny's whispered "Mum?" that shook Molly out of her fogged mindscape and she turned red-rimmed eyes to her daughter. "Mum, what do Uncles Gideon and Fabian have to do with Dad?"

A choked sob from Molly before a hiccupping reply: "Gideon ... Gideon Arcturus Weasley was Arthur's younger brother ... Fabian ... Fabian Galaor Prewett was my older brother although he was younger than Gid ... he was Gideon's husband and soul mate."

Four thumps were heard as Ginny, Bill, Charlie and Remus sat down hard on the floor; only the quick action of Susan, Fleur and Tonks stopped Molly from falling face-first on the floor as Bill released her.

***

**THE OFFICE OF THE MINISTER OF MAGIC**

"Hermione?"

The young witch was silent, unwilling to look at Harry, wondering how she got herself in this situation – or whether she'd deliberately committed the _faux pas_. True, she _did_ want to see the legendary Chamber of Secrets and wondered why, in the four years since it was opened and she was at school, she had never asked Harry for a tour – and dismissing that thought as irrelevant _now_ …

Vaguely, she heard Shacklebolt and Percy's low voices from where they were sitting at the Minister's desk, conversing quietly but incomprehensively – and remembered Harry ushering her to this small alcove to one side of the Minister's expansive office before casting privacy, muffling and silencing charms around the area.

She was trapped; she had well and truly put her foot in it this time.

"Hermione?" She sighed. She'd dug her own grave – deliberately or not, the deed was done – and asked, head down and staring at her shoes, "Harry … who told you that Ron and I went to the Chamber of Secrets?"

A puzzled Harry Potter, standing in front of her, replied, "You did."

The look she gave him would have made McGonagall proud; Hermione watched him gulp as her glare impaled him before he could squeak out, "Ron?"

She nodded sadly. "Yes, _Ron_._"_ She took a deep breath. "_Ronald_ _said_ that we'd gone to the Chamber of Secrets." And then sighed as she continued, "And _how_ do you think Ron and I got into the Chamber of Secrets, Harry? You're right, you know … you need to speak Parseltongue to get in."

"You said Ron did … you _told_ Ron to _show_ me –"

She lifted her eyes to meet his bewildered green orbs as she asked, "Did you understand a word he said?"

Their eyes remained locked for a long, silent moment before Harry looked away. "No."

He bit his lip at the admission. He _knew_, the moment Ron began making that horrible, strangled, hissing noise, that there was _no way_ they could have entered the Chamber – Ron's pitiful attempt at parseltongue was not only pathetic, it was laughable. Except that _Hermione_ supported the story … and brought proof of their accomplishment in the form of basilisk fangs …

Harry blinked. _Fangs? _Something was niggling at the back of his mind … something learned in muggle school … something read in the library while he was trying to escape Dudley and his gang…

He kept quiet, however, as Hermione continued, her voice seemingly flat and devoid of emotion, "There we were after you left to look for Ravenclaw's diadem and I thought … what would happen if you did find the other one, how were we going to get rid of it? We still hadn't gotten rid of the cup! Griphook had taken the sword! And then it hit me … the kitchens!"

Harry blinked – the kitchens? What were they going to do – _cook_ the damned thing?

"Ow!" He rubbed the back of his head where Hermione swatted him – and realized that he'd verbalized his last thought. Before he could apologize, Hermione hissed, "_Elves_, Harry! Since elves are so powerful, even though they rarely show it –" Harry nodded, remembering Dobby with an ache in his heart, "I thought that they could help us … maybe if they worked together, they could destroy the cup and then the diadem."

She slumped against the wall. "Ron thought going to the kitchens was brilliant, of course. He thought we were going there for a snack…"

Harry couldn't help it, he almost choked as he held back his laughter; Hermione, however, smiled feebly before continuing in a forlorn voice, "They couldn't help … too scared maybe or their magic couldn't do it … or they didn't want to destroy a Founder's Relic, I don't know."

Hermione sighed. "And then Winky approached. She asked what had happened to Dobby and I … I told her that he died fighting V-Voldemort, keeping you – his master – safe. She cried for a while as I held her and then she looked me in the eye and said, 'Would a serpent's tooth do?'

"It didn't register for a moment and then I realized – the basilisk! I was about to hug her but then Ron stepped in, asking how the hell we can get into the bloody Chamber to get one. Winky just looked at him like he needed a bath and started pulling me …Ron followed as we ran to the dungeons…"

Harry frowned, and then it hit him. Potions! Basilisk fangs and other parts were potions ingredients … he remembered Slughorn going on and on about Acromantula venom, Basilisk fangs and erumpet horns as Hermione continued, "She dragged me to the very back of the potions storeroom … right to a chest in a cabinet that said, 'Property of Hector Dagworth-Granger'."

"Dagworth-_Granger_? Founder of the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers?"

Hermione nodded. "Remember Slughorn asking me if he was a relation?" She shrugged then continued, "… anyway, Winky explained that part of the elves' job was to constantly renew the stasis charms on the box … She opened it and there it was … a cache of basilisk fangs. Apparently, it had been there for years, decades even but since basilisk fangs are rarely used in potions…" She shrugged and fell silent.

Harry shook his head. "So you never went to the Chamber…"

Hermione's sigh of exasperation was clear. "Harry … only a Parseltongue can enter the Chamber. Maybe if we had a recording of you opening the Chamber … Besides, you told me that the tunnel was blocked the first time you went in to rescue Ginny … how did _you_ get in this time?"

"We took the slide down," Harry replied. "Neville, Ernie and I, with McGonagall, Flitwick, and Hannah joining us. The professors cleared out the blockage and then we searched…" Harry trailed off. He was kicking himself mentally for missing it – when they'd gotten to the blocked part, there was only the small opening through which a 12-year old boy and an 11-year old girl had crawled through, five years ago. And even _that_ had been almost blocked from the debris of five years of shifting soil and rock … he didn't notice, simply because finding Hermione was the only thing on his mind.

Hermione nodded, and asked, "How'd you get out? I remember you saying that Fawkes flew you out the last time…"

Harry shrugged. "We brought brooms…" He stopped and Hermione nodded as he continued, "You wouldn't have found time to look for a broom – and I doubt if Ron would have even thought of that."

Hermione sighed again. "Everything else went pretty much the way Ron said. I took a fang and stabbed the Cup, destroying it, and then went looking for you, bringing the rest of the fangs with us. When we saw you … you asked us where we've been and Ron ..."

She shrugged, the guilty secret that she'd helped in now out, finally. Hermione felt peaceful, the tension draining from her but she nearly jumped when Harry said, "So that's it. Wonder why I missed that…"

Hermione looked curiously at him and Harry met her eyes. "A basilisk is nothing but a big snake, right?" She nodded, puzzled, and he continued, "Snakes only have two fangs for injecting venom … with one broken off when it died, there was only one left down there … but you and Ron showed up with quite a haul."

Hermione smiled, amazed once again at how Harry sometimes made intuitive leaps that showed how truly brilliant he could be, if he only applied himself to his studies. She sighed at the thought – Harry could be exceptional if he wanted to but he never really tried. She suspected it had something to do with the Dursleys – he'd told her once, during their time alone in the tent, that Vernon would hit the roof every time he came home with an above average report card, proving that he was better than his whale of a dumb son.

And when he came to Hogwarts … hanging out with Ron only made him worse. She wondered if Harry had imbibed Ron's lazy habits … or if he simply followed what he did with the Dursleys, because he was afraid to lose his best friend. She stirred as Harry said, quietly, "I wonder why he did it."

Hermione sighed. The better question was, why did _she_ allow him to get away with it? Not only that, but she'd even fed into Ron's ego … going all fan girl on Ron, praising him for his 'brilliance' and then kissing him soundly when his brain finally engaged and he suggested freeing the house elves – ugh! She should have expected Ron's reaction … what she was counting on was that Ron would be too stunned by what she did that he'd faint – instead, he'd grabbed her and kissed her soundly …even trying to get his tongue in her mouth…

She shivered at the memory, promising herself a visit to a mind healer so that she could be obliviated of _that!_

"Hermione?"

"You know why, Harry…" She began, unaware that Harry's eyes had dimmed at her words. "We were going into battle after we'd taken care of the Horcruxes … there was every chance that one of us would be dead … what would you have me do, Harry?"

She faced him fully and locked her eyes with his, willing him to look at her and see the truth, unconsciously grabbing his hands at the same time. "Ron _needed_ that, Harry. He may have been your best friend but friends don't leave their friends just because they're jealous or when things get rough.

"He'd already abandoned us twice – fourth year because of that stupid Tri-Wizard and again last year when he couldn't take that locket anymore. What's going to stop him from bailing out on us again? He needed the fame, he needs the glory … he needed the _chance_ to prove to everyone that he was your friend and would fight beside you to the bitter end ... and if trying to take the glory for finding the means to destroy the remaining Horxruxes would do that for him, who was I to stop him?

"Who was I to refuse him?"

As silence fell between them, Hermione wondered what was going on behind Harry's green eyes. They'd gone opaque and contemplative – and she would have been shocked to learn that it was Phineas' voice that Harry was hearing behind his thoughtful gaze: "_She would have been a perfect Slytherin, you know_."

He had to agree – what else was she supposed to do? Ron's glory-grabbing even after he'd proven himself to them would _never_ be enough for him ... Ron had to keep proving himself, to Harry and to his own mind … the guilt of having abandoned them during the Tri-Wizard and the hunt, as Hermione said, would weigh heavily on him. And if he gained a bit more courage by claiming that he'd 'ventured' into the Chamber of Secrets rather than going to the kitchens for a snack … then who was Harry to refuse? He had more than enough glory to last a lifetime – as did Hermione, he realized. Taking down Mad Bella and other rabid death eaters made her a legend … people would remember that she had been by his side throughout their years at Hogwarts.

As for Ron … He shook himself of the thought. What he'd done would always be with him; he may have made amends both times but he still abandoned them. Rita Skeeter was living proof that nothing could be kept hidden if someone was out for blood or your reputation – Harry could just see it now, Rita's latest tell-all book: "Ronald Weasley: Keeper of Secrets or Chaser for Glory?"

He realized that he'd been staring into Hermione's chocolate-brown eyes and shook his head; the gesture breaking Hermione out of her own trance. He felt himself smiling as a memory came to the forefront of his mind, and he couldn't help but tease her: "Is that why you went all _girly_ on Ron, Hermione?"

It was enjoyable to watch Hermione turn the colour of a Weasley's hair and Harry snickered – the laughter quickly turning to pain as Hermione hit him again. His Seeker reflexes kicked in and he grabbed her before she could hit him again, wrapping her into a tight hug as he whispered apologies in her ear.

He relaxed when he felt her arms snake around him and hugged him back; he breathed in deeply as he felt her giggling into his chest.

"A little over the top there, wasn't I? I can't believe I did that ..." Hermione said, and her giggles turned into shudders as she remembered Ron's reaction when she kissed him – once again, reminding herself to visit the mind healer for memory removal.

"Hermione?" She turned and got caught in Harry's gaze – her breath hitched in her throat for a brief moment before she felt his lips on hers. It was a brief one – a mere peck on the lips which left behind a lingering promise of more to come, and Hermione smiled as Harry's arms snaked around her. Leaning into his chest, she heard him say, "No more secrets, Hermione, please?"

Silence.

With a sigh, Harry gently pushed her back and stared at her as she worried her lower lip. Meeting her eyes, he asked, "Hermione?"

A sigh and a small smile. "A small one, Harry ... nothing big, nothing directly to do with all this, I promise. I'll tell you about it when the time is right."

For a long moment they locked gazes before Harry nodded. He was about to say something when a paper ball hit the back of his head – spinning around with wand out, he saw the Minister and Percy both looking at them with raised eyebrows, Shacklebolt mouthing the words "Get a room, you two!"

Blushing, Harry took down the wards and the teens approached.

"We've been able to contact Minerva; she'll meet us in the Headmaster's Office as soon as you're ready."

"Are you joining us, Minister?" Percy asked.

For a long moment, Shacklebolt stared at the piles of parchment on his desk. With slow, deliberate moves, he turned on the intercom on his desk and boomed out, "Nat? I'll be at a meeting at Hogwarts for the rest of the day. Shut down this place and take the day off ... we all deserve it."

He turned away without really listening to Natalie's enthusiastic agreement; grabbing the floo powder, he tossed it in and with a loud, "Hogwarts Headmaster's Office!" was gone in a flash of green flame, the others quickly following.

***

**ARITHMANCY CLASSROOM, HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY **

"Married? What are you talking about, woman?"

Remus flinched at the hard glares directed his way by the Weasley siblings but held his face impassive. Of those still awake in the room, he was the only one aside from Molly who had a lot of interaction with her brothers because of their work in the Order.

Truth to tell, he _liked_ the two Prewetts. They, like the Marauders, were the only ones who accepted him for what he was from the beginning. To them, he was a _person_ with a monthly scary problem – which made him no different from Dorcas Meadowes, Marlene McKinnon, Alice Longbottom or Lily Potter, all of whom were dead frightening when they had their 'monthlies.'

He fought down a laugh as he remembered the two saying, much like Fred and George with their Twin-speak, that Minerva McGonagall was the only one who was scary without a monthly problem – simply because she was 'past' such things – a comment which almost lost them two of their best fighters to 'friendly fire' from the enraged Deputy Headmistress.

He shook his head of the memory as he glared at the tear-stricken witch in front of him being comforted by her daughter-in-law. Molly looked at him with compassion and understanding – she, unlike her brothers, had often (and loudly) wondered why _he_ was with the Order until the day her brothers had grabbed her by the elbows and towed her away for a good 'talking to.'

She glanced at her two oldest children and asked, "What do you remember of Gideon and Fabian, boys?"

Charlie and Bill looked at each other before Bill replied, "They were twins, Mum ... big, stocky, red hair like you ... I never could tell them apart. Big belly laughs ... Uncle Gid and Uncle Fabian used to carry Charlie and I around on their shoulders whenever we saw them..."

He fell silent for a moment before whispering, "I...I don't remember them ever being at the Burrow, Mum. We'd meet them whenever you brought us along on some meeting or other ... I remember asking you time and time again how come Uncles Gid and Ian never came to play with us..."

Beside him Charlie was nodding vigorously; he too had asked the same question from his mum numerous times – and he blinked as he realized that he had never asked Arthur about his uncles. Not ever – it just wasn't done.

"They couldn't visit, Bill," Molly replied with a pained sigh. "The Burrow is the Weasley ancestral home and Arthur ... Arthur as Head of the Family could ban people from ever entering the Burrow if he so wished."

"But they were your brothers, Mum!"

"That's what we – Arthur insisted and I went along – wanted you to believe." She took a deep breath before continuing, "Your father wanted nothing to do with them when Gideon … 'came out,' I think is the word. The two of them – Gideon and Fabian – had been together as 'friends' for years, two confirmed bachelors who were closer than brothers. They were Auror partners and shared a flat, often went out on double dates as cover … until Gid or Ian, I never knew which one, decided to hell with it and refused to hide the fact that they were together.

"What clinched the deal was that they were soul mates … something they never knew about until Ian – Fabian – was doing a records check on some criminal or other, which led him to the Book of Souls in the Department of Mysteries and there it was – Gideon and he were soul mates and had been for years. He had a copy made and showed it to Gideon and the two went to the Burrow to confront Arthur and his Dad."

Ginny interrupted, "The Book of Souls?"

To their surprise, it was Susan Bones who answered, explaining what the book was and how it could be accessed. Wistfully, she said, "Aunt Amelia told me that Mum and Dad were in the book; she promised me that she would take me there to see it someday…"

Ginny hugged her tightly as she sobbed; everyone else kept a respectful silence as Susan managed to control herself. "Mrs. Weasley" – Molly looked up at Susan's voice – "Aunt Amelia told me that the Records Office is supposed to send out notices when a new entry is made in the Book … how come your brothers – err – your uhm (Molly nodded to show she understood) … well, how come they never knew?"

Molly sighed. "The notice is sent to the Head of House of the older of the bonded pair; it is the responsibility of the Head to explain to the pair what it means and what options are open to them.

"In this case, it went to Arthur and Gideon's father … what Gideon never realized until then was that his father and … and … Arthur kept it from them."

"Why?"

Molly sighed and hung her head. "Because they were purebloods who believed that marriage is between a man and a woman, and that a marriage is consummated when the woman starts bearing children to carry on the family name."

An oppressive silence fell over them; unconsciously, the mated pairs – Fleur and Bill, Remus and Tonks, Susan and Ginny – reached out to their partners' hands and held them tightly. The older pairs knew this but had never spoken of it; in both cases, they knew that having children was the only way their marriages would be considered valid in the eyes of British magical law since Bill and Tonks were married to 'creatures' – opposite sex, maybe, but creatures nonetheless in magical Britain's bigoted eyes.

"Bu…bu…but…"

"Hush, Ginny. That won't be a problem." Susan and Ginny turned wide eyes to the confident-sounding Fleur who gave them a small smirk. "The Veela have ways … some of our – techniques, let's say – have even made their way into the muggle world."

The two teens gaped – and gaped even further when Charlie spoke up. "Believe her, girls … we're trying some of those 'techniques' at the reservation for dragon breeding."

"Hem, hem." Tonks clearing her throat made them blink and blush; Susan, Ginny and the others realized that this was a discussion for another time and they turned their attention back to Molly who was also staring at Fleur in surprise. Tonks' question, "What happened next?" made her snap her head around to look at the metamorph.

"They had it out at the Burrow with Arthur's Dad … from what I learned later from Ian, the place was nearly destroyed when Arthur and his Dad tried to hex them. It ended when Arthur's Dad disowned Gideon and banned him from ever entering the Burrow again. Arthur, as the eldest and presumptive heir, agreed with his father and the wards expelled Gideon and Fabian."

Bill nodded; his father had explained the Burrow's defences to him two years before since he was the presumptive heir and Arthur felt it better to clue Bill in before 'something happened to him' – a prescient move, given what happened in Christmas of '95 when Arthur was attacked by Nagini. Expelling and keeping unwanted people out was only one of its many defences; unfortunately, the wards were no match for Voldemort himself who'd gone there looking for Harry when word got to him about Ron's faked spattergoit ...

She stood up and paced the room, walking over to the windows and staring out as she continued, "Arthur and I were already married and I was carrying you, Bill … I was out on Order business when Gid and Fabian had it out with them. I came home and we had a blazing row. He was cursing Ian and Gideon's names and ordered me never to speak to them again. I slapped him and told him that Fabian was my brother and presumptive heir to the Prewett family … he told me that I was no longer a Prewett but a Weasley and he was willing to call Family Law on me."

Molly was hyperventilating and the others looked worriedly at each other. "My temper got the better of me" – she ignored the snorts from the others – "and I hexed him. He got a shield up and it bounced back at me …I almost lost you, Bill…"

Bill walked quietly behind his mother and placed his hands on her shoulder; Molly spun around and hugged him tightly as she sobbed, "We talked it out in St. Mungo's while I was recovering … Arthur, however ... was firm about casting Gideon out of his family. Luckily for Ian, my father took them in and accepted them for what they were – two people in love who simply wanted to have a life together and to be left alone. Da' 'adopted' the two and Gideon took on the Prewett name."

"They weren't twins?"

Molly smiled sadly at Remus. "Nym – _Tonks_ isn't the only metamorphmagus, Remus. It used to be a game for Gideon, growing up – like Tonks, he can and did change his appearance to anyone he fancied but soon after his … his 'marriage', he took on Fabian's face and looks as his base form."

She sighed. "It was for the best … none of our friends, even those in the Order, talked about it. People who didn't know them – like the 'Young Ones' (Remus grinned sadly at the name the older Order members had called him and his friends) – assumed they were twins and they never said anything otherwise; so people just naturally assumed that was what it was."

Molly turned away from them and stared out the window. "Soon after, Arthur's father was ambushed by Death Eaters. He was on the way back from the pub when they attacked him … they left a note on his body … that he … he had sired an 'unnatural child' and had to be erased since his un-naturalness might spread.

"Arthur blamed Gideon for it, of course – claiming that it was Gideon's 'unnatural' relationship with Fabian that had caused their father to be a target. He would never accept that it could have been because Gideon was a metamorph … or that _both_ of them were 'un-natural' in Voldemort's eyes because they were purebloods who opposed him. Arthur, even then, had a fascination for Muggles and had just started crafting the Muggle Protection Act for the Wizengamot."

She sighed. "Arthur swore on his father's grave that he would never let another freak darken the family's name ever again … he never spoke to Gid or Fabian ever again, even when we saw each other during Order meetings."

She turned and sat heavily on the window sill. "I couldn't cut off my brother like that. Every chance I got, I'd bring the boys over to their place and spend time with them … Albus, bless his soul, never let on to Arthur; always said that he sent me off on some mission or other, or that I was in the castle working with Minerva or Slughorn brewing potions.

"It was a wonderful sight to see, those two, so in love and deeply caring for each other. It was truly a marriage made in heaven and blessed by the gods … there were times when I envied them for what they had. What Arthur and I had … it was as close to that as we could achieve but theirs was a whole level deeper or higher or whatever.

"When they were killed … I guess I over-compensated." She gave Ginny a wry. "All I ever talked about when Ginny was growing up was soul mates and soul bonds … except that I couldn't mention Gideon and Fabian by name or Arthur would have freaked … so I kept on talking about Ginny and Harry…"

"You and a thousand other mothers, Mrs. Weasley." They all looked at Susan who was blushing prettily and refusing to meet Ginny's eyes. "Err … Aunt Amelia was planning to offer Harry a betrothal contract when he turned sixteen." She bit her lip. "Except that … well…"

There was no need to say anything more; everyone there knew that Amelia Bones had been killed – they all suspected it was by Voldemort himself – just weeks before Harry's birthday. Tonks snorted and said, "Not just mothers, Susan…"

Her hair and face turned flaming red as all eyes zoomed in on her, Remus' eyes faintly glowing as he stared at her. "Er … my Da' (_gulp!_) wanted to send a contract to 'arry when he turned sixteen … Mum was fit to tie and threatened to brain 'im if he tried that …"

Silence fell – broken seconds later by a soft snicker from Fleur. One by one, giggles were heard only to be suppressed; soon enough, though, they couldn't hold off and the room dissolved into loud, raucous laughter that lightened the mood after Molly's painful tale.

Only to be broken by Remus' somber voice: "All well and good, Molly, but that doesn't explain the love potions in _your_ family's heirloom container."

Molly sighed and hung her head; the others had to strain to hear her hushed, pain-filled voice: "Arthur's been worried about Ron for years … at least, ever since he went to Hogwarts. Year in, year out, from the first letter he sent to the moment he came home, nothing but Harry this and Harry that – 'youngest Seeker in a century,' 'my best mate Harry', helping Harry defeat the troll … saving Harry's life from Quirell …

"Summer before second year – 'we better save Harry from his relatives', taking the car to Hogwarts so that he _and Harry_ will not be late … Third year, protecting _Harry _from Snape and Sirius Black …Fourth year, months of nothing but 'Harry betrayed me' and then, finally, that he and _Harry_ were friends again …"

She looked up at her children, a pleading look in her eyes. "Arthur was going spare … nothing but Harry this and Harry that from his youngest _son_ … he was beginning to have nightmares of Fabian laughing at him, going on and on about how he and _Gideon_ were the best of _friends … best friends forever_, Fabian said once …"

"But Mum," Ginny protested, "Ron's been friends with Hermione since their first year…"

A flicker of pain passed over Molly's face. "Hermione … 'that know-it-all bookworm trying to horn in on _his_ friendship with _Harry_…" She didn't see the shocked look on Ginny's face at this side of Ron that she had seldom seen. "That's what he said … that's what he wrote in first year after pages and pages of 'Harry this' and 'Harry that' …

She abruptly stood up and looked out the window of the classroom. "I kept telling Arthur that there was _nothing_ there … that Ronnie was still young, wouldn't know anything about _girls_ yet…"

"He didn't even realize that Hermione was a girl until a few days before the Yule Ball," Ginny said quietly to Bill, Charlie and Fleur; Susan already knew _that_ tale.

Molly sent a pained smile at her daughter and shook her head. "You can imagine Arthur's reaction when Percy owled us that _Ron_ was the hostage in the second task of the Tri-Wizard…"

"Ze one 'Arry will miss the most," Fleur murmured, remembering that episode with a shudder, especially since she was not able to save her sister from the lake. She'd been so worried about Gabby, then was so grateful to Harry for rescuing her sister that the fact that _Ronald_ was the one Harry would miss most had completely flown over her head.

"And then the summer at Grimmauld," Molly whispered. "Hermione and Ron were both going spare … Hermione more than Ron, which was all right in a way – but then, Ron never really showed any interest in Hermione in all that time … and kept talking and worrying about Harry …"

She fell silent after that; this time it was Tonks who asked, "The potions, Molly?"

Molly glanced at Ginny and her brothers briefly. "It took me some time to realize it, but have you ever noticed how thin and starved Harry looked after the summers? He's been staying with us every summer except for the time we visited Bill in Cairo; haven't you noticed how he looks when he comes over?"

She smiled sadly at Ginny's guilt-stricken face. "It all came together for me after … after Sirius died. The boy is well-fed and filled out when we meet up with you in London but looks like death warmed over when he arrives at the Burrow for the summer, after he spends time with the Muggles.

"Arthur and I went to Hogwarts to discuss it with Poppy Pomfrey –" and she smiled sadly at the memory. "Poppy was cursing a blue streak – she'd caught the signs of malnutrition and abuse the first time Harry was in hospital and took it up with Albus who promised that he 'would look into it' … but it seems he did nothing about it."

"_What?_"

Molly looked at the visibly steaming Remus Lupin who had, with a start, remembered thinking that Harry seemed to be small for his age and had not taken on the physical size or attributes of his parents, both of whom were of above-average height when they first entered Hogwarts while Harry was decidedly slim and small for his age. The statement that Harry looked like a 'miniature James' was quite apt – what even he overlooked was that Harry should _not_ have been a miniature anything by the time he was fifteen when Remus saw him again.

"Albus was in the castle then and Poppy, Arthur and I confronted him about it. He finally admitted that he suspected that Harry had been abused and starved before he went to Hogwarts … something about 'condemning Harry to ten dark and difficult years' but that it was all for 'the greater good'."

She ignored the snorts of derision at that phrase, the provenance of which Rita Skeeter had exposed in her tell-all book on Dumbledore and Grindelwald as she continued, "Poppy tore into Albus at that, pointing out that Harry should have undergone treatment much earlier and that filling meals during school days, only to be starved and beaten during the summers was not going to help. She suggested nutritional potions for Harry before he turned seventeen; while it would not undo the damage of the previous years, it would at least help him grow to his full magical and physical potential before he came of age."

Molly shook her head; all this talking was getting to her and she nodded in gratitude to Tonks, who had conjured and handed a glass of water to her. After a sip, she continued, "I volunteered to brew the potions; there was no way I would allow Severus to handle it – no telling what that foul bat would do to the potions, given the chance. The only problem was how to get Harry to take them without knowing."

It was Bill who raised the question this time, "Why?"

"You don't know Harry, Bill. He's spent more time in the Hospital Wing, downing more potions than anyone I know … the moment he was out of Mum's sight, he'd be binning the potions and telling mum that he'd been taking them," Ginny said strongly. Bill looked at her and nodded; he didn't know Harry all that well and could see the point.

"And giving it to Harry would make him ask why he had to take them," Molly added. "Something that Albus was loathe to allow. Harry would have gone spare if he learned that Albus knew or suspected what was happening or had happened with the Muggles … he made us promise not to tell Harry, just allow him to think it was a natural, albeit late, growth spurt when it happens.

"Albus suggested that Dobby – the Malfoy house elf that Harry freed – would be more than willing to help, which was true. He called for Dobby, explained the situation and Dobby agreed to do it. I brewed the potions, bottled it and Dobby would drop by the Burrow every week to pick it up."

She shook her head. "I'm only guessing here but I suspect that Arthur switched the potions after I'd brewed and bottled them. We were the only ones left at the Burrow after you lot left for Hogwarts – there was no one else who could have done it."

"Where would Dad have gotten the love potions, Mother? It's Ministry-controlled and having someone brew it for him…"

"He's the head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office, Charlie," Susan Bones pointed out, "which is a misnomer. Its primary function is to keep magical items, especially the harmful ones, from getting into muggle hands."

"So?"

"Aunt Amelia told me, just before she died, that the DMLE suspected that someone was selling love or lust potions to the Muggles. There has been an increase in what she called 'date-rapes' on the muggle side where women were being drugged and then raped; she told me that Mr. Weasley was asking for help in trying to track down the suppliers on our side of the fence. They'd done several raids by then where they caught some low-level Muggles with the potions but were unable to catch the suppliers."

"I remember that," Tonks interjected. "I was supposed to be reassigned to Arthur's office to help out but then …" She shrugged; everyone else nodded. Things had quickly changed that year – Arthur was reassigned to another office, tasked with stopping the flow of counterfeit defensive spells and potions that had gained popularity with the revelation that Voldemort was back. "It's possible, I suppose … Arthur would have captured stocks of love and lust potions … easiest thing in the world to have kept them and say he'd destroyed them …"

"Possible, but there's no proof!" All eyes turned to Charlie, who flinched at their cold glares. Swallowing, he tried to glare back at them. "This is _Dad_ we're talking about here …"

"And this is _Mum_ we're talking with, Charlie!" The second-oldest Weasley son stepped back at the angry teen witch who was standing in front of him, palpable waves of anger roiling off her. "She's sworn a witches oath that she hasn't brewed any love or lust potions … she wasn't the one who tried to hex Susan for being with me…"

"She wasn't the one who Obliviated Ginny of her memories of me," Susan interjected gently as she wrapped an arm around the shaking young witch. "I suspected Ginny was Obliviated around the time you lot visited Ron in the Hospital Wing last year – the day before we were talking about going to Hogsmeade together … the day after, she didn't even know who I was or what we had together…"

She spoke louder, running over Charlie's half-hearted protest. "Aunt Amelia always said Mr. Weasley was one of the best Obliviators in the DMLE, he could have headed the Oblivators if he weren't needed in Muggle Artefacts. It may have been a factor in the move – rather than call on the Oblivator Squad for every little thing, he can do it himself.

"Mr. Weasley had the means, the motive and the opportunity to obliviate Ginny of her memories of me..."

"He did." Ginny's face was painful to watch: tears flowing as she stared at the man she had looked up to for years, the man who had carried her around, doted on her as she grew up, spoiled her as much as their limited resources could allow, now seemed to be a stranger in her eyes. Her pained whisper continued, "I asked to speak with him privately when I visited Ron ... we found an empty classroom and we sat down ... I told him about Susan, about my feelings for her ... next thing I remember is that he was drawing his wand and then ... and then ..."

She broke down, enfolded in Susan's tight grip even as Molly stood up and wrapped the two young girls in her arms. The others looked at each other for a moment, a silent question being passed from one to the other ... until Remus took the bull by the horns: "There is a way of confirming all this, Charlie ..."

The Weasley brothers looked at each other for a long moment before Charlie nodded; with a pained look on his face, Bill turned to Tonks who nodded at the unspoken message.

Grim faced, Tonks approached the still-unconscious Arthur Weasley, pulling out a phial of a transparent liquid from her robes. Uncapping the phial, she used an eye dropper to carefully place a few drops of the liquid inside Arthur's lolling mouth and then, with a deep sigh, pointed her wand and said, "_Ennervate!_"


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N**: Finally, after (starts counting ...) some 24 drafts, re-drafts, edits and re-thinking, another chapter out and running. My deepest apologies to everyone for the delay. While I would like to blame work, a writer's block the size of the Great Wall of China, the holidays, more work and so on ... I have to be honest and lay the blame on a few dozen people, all of whom can be found on my Favorites list in my profiles. Totally brilliant writers like **robst**, **radaslab, broomstickflyer** (who so graciously allowed me to use their story as a takeoff for this), **DrgnMstr, muggledad**, and so many others that kept diverting me from both real life work, and this tale.

Without further ado ... Harry Potter, Hermione Granger and everyone else in this tale (except one or two who never appeared in canon) are the property of JK Rowling, her various companies, partners and what not. I make no money from this but simply enjoy the chance to play with her characters.

**Chapter 7.**

**Arithmancy Classroom, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry **

The Weasleys – Bill and Fleur, Charlie, Molly and Ginny – and the Lupins (Tonks and Remus), along with Susan Bones, were in a state of mental and emotional turmoil, unable to believe what Arthur had said under Veritaserum. This was a man they'd admired and respected, a man they'd fought beside (Remus and Molly in two wars), a man they were proud to call father or friend.

The man sitting in a chair, head lolling, eyes unfocused and voice slurred from the effects of Veritaserum ... this was _not_ the Arthur Weasley they'd known and loved.

Tonks and Remus had led the questioning, taking off from Molly's earlier assertions – much of which Arthur confirmed. Yes, he'd been worried that his youngest son would turn poufter – nothing but Harry on his mind, his best mate, his best friend, and sounding too much like Arthur's disowned brother Gideon spouting off about Fabian (Gideon's best friend, lover and soul mate) for the patriarch's comfort.

Ron being the person that Harry 'would miss the most' during the Tri-Wizard increased Arthur's concern … coming upon a loopy Ron giggling about 'your anus' in the Department of Mysteries drove him to distraction … learning about Ginny and Susan the following year was the final straw … he had no choice but to take action.

He'd Obliviated Ginny, 'revived' her feelings for Harry, replaced Molly's nutritional potions (which she'd been sending through Dobby since the summer) with Amortentia – all the while saying that it was within his rights as the Head of the Ancient and Noble House of Weasley to do so ...

"_I DON'T BELIEVE THIS FUCKING SHYTE!_" Ginny's roar made Remus grateful that he'd demanded the teens surrender their wands before they started questioning Arthur. Father or not, the look on the young witch's face promised either a quick death or sustained pain for anyone at the end of Ginny's wand.

Molly's reprimand of, "Watch your mouth –" was cut off by the furious witch who turned blazing eyes on her: "Put a sock in it, _mother!_"

A burp would have sounded like an explosion in the suddenly silent room, only for the shock to wear off as the raging witch turned and bellowed at her father: "WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING?"

The question seemed to trigger something in the older man – and they gaped in surprise as Arthur's demeanour changed. No longer slumping, he sat straight in the chair, head up and spine rigid as if a broom had been shoved up his back; staring straight ahead although his eyes remained unfocused and glassy; responding in a voice that was oddly flat, harmonious and lucid: "It is for the greater good of the wizarding world."

"_WHAT?_"

"Magical Britain is in peril ... there are far too few children of the Old Families left to continue a viable society. It is the duty of every light-sided wizard and witch to marry and produce children, preferably sons who can continue the lines and lead magical society towards its destiny. Ensuring strong sons that can lead us in the future is our duty and responsibility."

Tonks frowned – for a moment, she thought the voice sounded familiar … 'Hal' talking to 'Dave' … which was strange because she was sure she'd never met a 'Hal' before.

Her thoughts were interrupted as an incensed Susan Bones asked, "Is that why you were against Ginny's relationship with me?"

There was a hard edge to Arthur's voice as he answered, a tone they had never heard before from the mild-mannered man: "Yes! It is a _perversion_ of the ideals of marriage. The purpose of marriage is to ensure the continuity of family and society. Without children to carry family forward, society is doomed. Since people of the same gender cannot produce children, they must be cast from society and the protection of family."

"If so, why go through all the _shyte_?" Susan gritted out through clenched teeth as she glared at the Weasley patriarch, "Why obliviate Ginny, why dose Harry with love potions when you could have simply _disowned_ her!"

Arthur's disembodied, harmonious voice responded, "That is not an option. For the good of the wizarding world, Harry Potter cannot be allowed to marry another muggleborn with flawed ideas and outlandish notions. Only his marriage to Ginny, a pureblood witch from a family dedicated to the 'Light,' is acceptable. Harry and Ginny are the future of magical society, destined to become the leaders of light who will bring magical Britain into the future."

"_BASTARD! _THAT FRIGGIN'_ BASTARD!_" Molly's blood curdling scream broke the trance that had seemingly enveloped the room's occupants. Susan watched, confused, as Molly charged for the door as Bill and Charlie tried to intercept the raging witch; Fleur's wand flashed and Molly bounced off an invisible barrier into the arms of her sons as another spell flashed from Fleur's wand – this time, shrouding Molly in a warm glow –

The sound of a meaty _SLAP!_ followed quickly by Tonks' loud "STUPEFY!" had wands pointing all over the room – and the Weasleys blinked at the sight of Arthur on the floor, an incensed Tonks standing over him as Remus rubbed a bruised cheek. Tonks responded curtly to the confused Weasleys, "-serum's wearing off ... Arthur tried to grab Remus' wand. I had to stun 'im."

Molly, however, was oblivious to Tonks' explanation as she sat in a chair, mumbling an unending mantra of, "That bastard! That friggin' _bastard_!" A befuddled Susan asked a visibly seething Ginny who looked ready, willing and able to kill someone with her bare hands, "Gin? What's wrong? What's going on?"

"Dumbledore," Ginny spat and Susan blinked at the _non sequitur _– life on the run was not conducive to reading and Susan hadn't read or even heard of Skeeter's book_. _Ginny explained in short, terse sentences punctuated by Molly's new mantra; Susan's confusion morphed to outright horror at the implications of Arthur's parroting of 'the greater good ...'

"We can't be sure of that, Ginny," Bill interrupted – and found himself behind his bemused wife, looking over her shoulder as his favourite (and only) sister glared at him. "WILLIAM ARTHUR WEASLEY! It's _obvious _that ..."

"It's one _phrase_, Gin!" Charlie interrupted from where he stood behind Molly's chair. "_One_ phrase that could be taken out of context – and Dad was already predisposed against your relationship! He's already disowned Uncle Gideon for the same thing ..."

"But that's the _point_! Susan's right – if he was so _against_ it, he could have – he _should _have – disowned me! Why this elaborate plan ..."

"Ginny!" She stopped as warm hands gripped her shoulders and she glanced up to see the intense blue eyes of Susan on her. "I _understand_. You want to blame _someone _... you want to believe that your _father_ could not have done that ... but we can't be _sure!_"

Ginny was having none of this – she was prepared to argue her case, loudly, but stopped as Susan's callused hand covered her mouth. "What are you gonna do? Blame Dumbledore? He's _dead_ – but he went out fighting and most everyone thinks he died a _hero!_ No matter what, people still look up to him! Who do you think people will believe: Skeeter or the 'legend' that is Dumbledore? What are you gonna tell 'em? That Mr Weasley's been under an Imperius curse all this time?"

"I have to know, Susan." The pain in the youngest Weasley's voice was evident in the tears streaking her face. Her pained words cut through every one conscious in the room. "I _have_ to _know!_ Dad – he was the one I ran to when I was hurt, who watched over me as I slept, who woke me from my nightmares after Tom's diary was destroyed…

"I have to _know_, Susan, whether the man I thought loved me did that to me because it is what he is … or because _someone_ was playing games." Susan hugged Ginny tightly but the others could hear her muffled voice: "We lost a year, Susan … one whole _year_ when we could have been together…"

"Maybe it was for the best, Gin," Susan said softly. Ginny tried to step back but was held by Susan's hands on either side of her face, holding her steady as she locked eyes with the younger witch. "_Think_, Gin … if we hadn't been separated, would you have stayed in Hogwarts? Would you have stayed behind at school or at home with your family where you were safe…"

"I would have gone with you, Suzie …"

"And do what? I've been on the run for a year, Gin … hiding from Snatchers, fighting Death Eaters, moving from place to place, never knowing whether I would get through the day and see the sun rise … it wasn't the best life for anyone, Gin – we'd go for days without food, not even a chance to wash or change our clothes, every minute wondering whether we'd meet our end …"

The others were silent – true, they hadn't had it as bad as Susan did but that didn't mean that their lives were a bed of roses. They were able to survive in relative safety – but they had to endure the anxiety of not knowing. Each day they listened to the wireless, hoping to hear the Twins' voices or waiting for word from Harry, Ron or Hermione – heaving sighs of relief at knowing they were still alive and in the next minute worrying whether that night or the next day would find their siblings captured or dead …

"The only thing that kept me going, Gin, was the thought that someday it would be over … that the war would end and that maybe … maybe I'll find you and learn that it was all a big mistake…" Susan let go a small sob as Ginny's arms went around her, squeezing for all she was worth. "And that you'd tell me that … that…"

"That I love you, Susan Amelia Bones. I love you, then and now, past, present and into the future." She entwined her hands in Susan's hair and locked eyes with the taller witch as she continued, "Wherever you go, I will go; wherever you stay, will be my home. Your family will be my family; your God, my God. Where you die, I will die and nothing but death can keep us apart."

"So mote it be." A crying Susan finished the oath as she leaned forward; their lips meeting and the conscious occupants in the room turned away from the glow which surrounded the two young girls, even as they surreptitiously wiped tears away from eyes invaded by dust motes.

Time passed – no one could say whether seconds or minutes had passed – but even young love had to step aside for reality. Painful though it would be, Tonks and Remus knew there were things to be done and Tonks cleared her throat, "Hem Hem."

Susan and Ginny reluctantly broke apart but stood together, arms around the others' waists, looking bemusedly at the Auror with the blindingly pink hair. Before she could say anything, Bill interrupted her, "Hospital wing, for now, I think. I'll ask Poppy to dose him with Dreamless Sleep for tonight … and then," he took a deep breath even as he locked gazes with Tonks, "St. Mungo's probably. Fleur knows a Mind Healer … I agree with Gin – we have to know. Not just for their sakes but also for ours."

The atmosphere turned tense as the Auror and the eldest Weasley son locked stares, until Tonks nodded, at which the Weasleys heaved a sigh of relief.

"I have to tell Shack – the Minister of Magic," Tonks amended – and raised a hand before the others could protest. "Verbally, nothing written or in a report … including our 'suspicions'. Knowing Shack, he'll keep this to himself; it's not likely that he'll go blabbing to Skeeter about this."

Bill glanced at his mother who nodded her head in resignation. They knew there was no option – what Arthur had done was beyond the reservation and over the horizon, whether it was from his own prejudice or not; the only good thing about this whole fiasco was – as Tonks pointed out – the Minister was a good friend and would keep this under his hat.

A palpable sense of relief could be felt in the room; they'd dodged a bullet and – if the recent revelations panned out – they knew there was a basis for rebuilding their family and their ties with their father. To all of them Arthur was the epitome of all that was good – brave in battle, a large heart to his family and friends, a doting father to his children. There was hope that the incident with Harry and Ginny was an aberration; that the world would not learn of it was more than enough.

"We have to tell McGonagall something, though," Tonks pointed out, reminding her husband of the Headmistress' patronus earlier, directing them to a meeting in her office – a summons that they'd responded to with a message that they were 'busy'.

Remus shrugged; it wasn't that big a deal to him. "We'll just tell her that we assisted Bill with a couple of cursed objects in the Arithmancy Wing. That should hold her off."

He blinked at the wand that was under his nose; rotating his eyeballs slowly upward, he gulped at the sight of Susan's icy eyes boring into his as she said, with a spine-tingling hiss, "Are you calling Ginny and myself _cursed?_"

For a brief moment, Remus wondered whether he'd been channelling Ron Weasley from earlier – it took a bit of effort to stop whimpering "Mummy".

"Susan, let the wolfie go!" Tonks voice sounded as if it was coming from far away, or so it seemed to Remus whose normally enhanced hearing could hear nothing save the rapid beating of his heart.

He heaved a sigh of relief when Susan removed her wand – and watched the buxom redhead turn to his wife with a raised eyebrow and ask, "You call Professor Lupin _wolfie_?

Tonks shrugged. "It sounded like a good idea at the time," she said, "although I call him something else when he's howling in bed…"

"TMI!" Two teens screamed as they clapped hands over their ears as Tonks giggled – which had Fleur following suit, followed by chuckles from Bill and Charlie … followed by outright laughter from Ginny and Susan, until they were rolling on the floor, laughing at a nonplussed Remus.

He shook his head; he must really be tired if Susan could get one over on him. This called for retribution and he narrowed his eyes at the giggling girl, wondering what he could do … and fell to his knees as a powerful magical pulse passed through him, striking like a bludger on the back of his head … He didn't see Molly, who had also fallen on her knees, holding her head as if it were threatening to split apart while Arthur fell off his conjured bed, face down on the floor, as stiff as a board or Hagrid's rock cakes, and Ginny's shrill voice adding to the pain in his brain: "WHAT _THE FUCK_ IS GOING ON?

***

**Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and ****Wizardry**

"Bee in your bonnet, Headmaster?"

Severus Snape snapped out of his silent musing before shaking his painted head at the raspy voice of the Sorting Hat. But then again, he thought, why should he be surprised? A lonely man by choice and circumstance, he felt a curious kinship with the Hat when he held office here and indulged its penchant for speaking its mind – something that the previous Headmaster apparently neither appreciated or approved.

Something that he had noticed but never really thought about: when it came to words or ideas, Albus Dumbledore would listen only to his own voice.

He shook himself from his thoughts and glanced at the Hat on its shelf. "Just thinking, Adrian ... just thinking."

"Ah," the Hat said, sagely. "The one thing we never stop doing for as long as we are tied to this plane of existence – asleep or awake, we can never stop thinking."

"Or talking," Portrait-Snape snarked.

"How else can we bring our ideas across, Headmaster?" the Hat responded, reasonably. "That is, after all, one of the reasons for the magic that has brought your essence to that portrait. The Founders did not want the experience and knowledge of the Heads to be lost to future generations; you are, after all, the conservators of their dreams and hopes."

Snape couldn't help snorting. "Conservator? Dreams? _This_ was never part of my dreams or plans." He sighed. "Now that my mission is done ... I would much rather be elsewhere."

"A surprising sentiment, Headmaster. The others," and the Hat seemed to gesture around him, "would spend months or even years railing that they still have things left undone …"

"You forget," Snape interrupted, "I never _wanted_ or _expected_ to be here. In fact, I am surprised to find myself here in this frame along with all these other … _august_ personas."

"Why should you be surprised? You did serve as Headmaster – and quite well, in fact – besides, the castle's magic itself placed you there."

A raised eyebrow was directed at the Hat, "Indeed? Either the castle is oblivious or the attacks have addled it beyond recognition."

There was no response as the door to the office crashed open and a harried Minerva McGonagall rushed in, followed by Deputy Headmaster Filius Flitwick chasing after her like a terrier chasing a car. Snape shook his head violently to dislodge an image of a bare chested, high-booted Flitwick chasing a pussy around as he heard the fireplace roar and realized that McGonagall had unlocked the Floo.

He looked up in time to see the fireplace flare green and Minister of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt step out. Smiling, the Minister discreetly waved his wand to clear the ashes from his robes as he walked towards the older woman before enveloping her in a warm embrace – no words needed to express their feelings at the moment. As he released her, he turned to Flitwick, dropping to one knee to embrace the diminutive wizard. Snape's snarky reaction was cut off as the fireplace flared again with Percy Weasley arriving and going through the same evolution as Kingsley: walking towards McGonagall as he banished the ashes on his robe – but extending a hand as he said, "Headmistress, a pleasure to see you."

McGonagall took his hand, saying, "A pleasure, Mr Weasley" before also enveloping him in a hug – restrained to be sure, but still a hug. Only to nearly throw Percy over her shoulder as her favourite student stepped into the room.

Squealing "Hermione!" like a schoolgirl, the Headmistress rushed over and enveloped Hermione in a hug to rival a python – completely forgetting the most basic rule of Floo courtesy: as soon as you arrive, make way for someone else.

The reminder was not long in coming. The fireplace belched loudly and spat Harry Potter out on his arse at tremendous speed, sending him straight into Minerva and Hermione, bringing them down in a tumble of arms and legs … and Harry found himself staring into McGonagall's icy blue eyes as a brogue straight out of the arctic requested: "Will you mind getting off me, Mr Potter?"

Only to hear Hermione say: "Um, Professor … you're on top of Harry?"

McGonagall blinked, looked down, realized her 'compromising' position and jumped up – only to fall on her bum as her feet were still entwined with Harry's, and froze as an unaccustomed roar filled the room.

Shacklebolt, Flitwick and Percy had their wands out and ready as the others tried to disentangle themselves – only to gape at the sight of Severus Snape laughing to beat the band, rolling on the 'floor' of his frame, kicking his legs in roiling hilarity!

"ALVIN SEVERUS SNAPE!" As the triple-name combination rolled off Minerva's tongue, Snape was on his feet, but this was no frightened schoolboy – this was a seriously pissed adult whose icy tone and laser-like glare could cut diamonds: "I would be most grateful, _Madam_, if you cease your use of my first name – as I had requested before my Sorting years ago."

He noticed Hermione mouthing "Alvin?" to a snickering Harry and turned a steely gaze at the giggling teen. "And what are you laughing about, _Miss _Granger? I haven't had such a laugh since I watched Benny Hill with Lily …"

Harry and the others (even Snape) cringed at Hermione's unholy shriek of indignation: "You _LIKE_ Benny Hill? That's …that's …"

Snape's raised eyebrow and trademark sneer were in full force: "Hilarious? Entertaining? Riotous? Uproarious? Speak up, girl!"

"I was going to say obscene, Professor," Hermione replied, only to be met by a roll of the eyes that would put her own efforts to shame.

"You need a little more laughter in your life, Miss Granger," the portrait replied in a condescending tone. "Which I doubt you get much of from Potter…"

"Hey!" Harry's protest was cut off by McGonagall's surprisingly loud, parade ground roar: "ENOUGH!"

McGonagall blinked at the sight of the breathing and the painted in the room (including the Sorting Hat) standing stiff as boards, heads up, chins out, thumbs along the seams of their robes – and rolled her eyes before moving towards her desk as she said, "Oh, at ease, all of you!"

As she sat down, she asked. "All right, what's going on?" She fixed a steely gaze at Kingsley Shacklebolt who'd just settled in an armchair. "Let's start with you, Kingsley. All I know is that the goblins are coming here for a 'meeting,' the purpose of which is not clear but that we are to regard it as a visit from a Head of State – not surprising since Ragnok is not just the head of Gringotts but also Clan Chief of the Clan Chiefs of the Goblin Nation."

She continued before Shacklebolt could say a word. "I have instructed the elves to clean up the castle and set things up; Pappy the Head Elf has told me that they've been in contact with the Goblins' elves –"

"The _Goblins_ have elves?" Hermione's shrill voice stopped McGonagall, who turned her laser-like focus on the teen, who cringed at the look.

"This is not the time for that discussion, Miss Granger. Suffice it to say that the elves have things well in hand for this meeting and the dinner afterwards. Although it has not happened in some time, the elves can and do coordinate with each other in making sure that the appropriate protocols and arrangements are in place for meetings such as this."

"Sorry, Headmistress," Hermione responded in a small voice, feeling some small comfort as Harry squeezed her hand. The elderly woman's stern face softened as she regarded her favourite pupil.

"Apology accepted, Miss Granger – if you will, in turn, accept mine." Hermione looked up in surprise, but the Headmistress was focused on her desk. "I should have taken you in hand years ago when you first embarked on this crusade – unfortunately, there were just too many things in the way: the tournament, Harry's trial, Umbridge …"

"More like _someone_ didn't want you educating the young lady properly, Headmistress." The heads of McGonagall's visitors swivelled to the source of that gravelly voice – and all eyes (except Harry and McGonagall) blinked as they realized it was the Sorting Hat who spoke. "Foisting off all sorts of _menial_ tasks on you while he kept himself locked in his ivory tower spinning his plans …"

"Enough, Adrian," McGonagall said in a weary voice, "as Deputy Headmistress …"

"It is your job to ensure a _quality_ education for all who enter this school! Your first responsibility, whether teacher, Head of House or Head of this school, is to the _students_ … not the wizarding world as a whole, not the magical government of Britain or the world, not even for some fabled 'greater good' that only _he_ knew or understood …"

"I said _enough!_" McGonagall's voice lashed out even as her hand slapped down on the desk. "I wish not to speak ill of the dead" – she ignored the snorts coming from two directions – "but this is not the time for such discussions, especially when we have guests coming. We can return to that matter soon … as I am fully confident that neither you nor Filius will allow me to forget."

She sighed tiredly as she glanced at Shacklebolt. "Filius and I have been urging Albus for years to establish a mandatory course on Magical Culture and Lifestyle for our muggle-borns and muggle-raised students; Albus insisted that we have neither the funding nor the teachers for that. When things settle down…"

The Minister for Magic nodded; it was something that he'd been thinking about even when he was on the run with Susan Bones and his team. Part of the reason for their successful evasion was because of the Muggle born who'd been able to hide them in the muggle world. It was during those times that he realized how woefully lacking in knowledge they were of the 'outside' world – and how woefully ill-informed the Muggle-born were of theirs.

He shook his head of the thought, and nodded to Percy who began briefing Minerva and Flitwick on the upcoming visit. Administrative, logistical and security concerns were raised and dealt with; in the end, the only issues left unanswered was the one that had bothered the Minister from the start: no one had a clue why the goblins wanted a meeting with Harry specifically.

He listened as Flitwick pointed out that it couldn't be because of Harry's last 'visit' to the bank – the goblins would not be calling for any meetings but would simply seize Harry's vault, and he was grateful that Minerva had thought to include the half-goblin in this meeting. Percy was conscientious and a hard worker, but he was simply too junior and too new at Goblin Liaison to provide truly worthy and in-depth insights.

"The problem is," Flitwick explained, "Gringotts – like all banks – prides itself on its security and the safety offered to its customers, provided they are willing to pay the price. For three young people to break in, steal something of value and then escape aboard a dragon!" Flitwick shook his head – whether in admiration of the deed or consternation at the political implications was difficult to tell.

"Trust a Gryffindor to go for the spectacular publicity stunt rather than the sly cunning approach! While I applaud the audacity of the deed, the consequences were apparently beyond what their little minds could comprehend."

The Gryffindors in the room all rolled their eyes at the acerbic comment coming from the peanut gallery – or the portrait of Severus Snape – only to blink in surprise when they realized that Phineas Nigellus Black had returned to his portrait and was listening in.

Before Harry or McGonagall could say a word, Flitwick spoke up, "He does have a point, Harry ... did you _have_ to do it in such a publicly spectacular manner?"

Harry's angry retort died on his lips as he caught sight of Flitwick's amused face; he was, however, unable to stop Hermione from starting a rant: "Professor! You _know_ why we had to get in there and grab the Cup ... it was the key to defeating Voldemort!"

"Was it?"

The softly spoken question stopped Hermione in her tracks and she gaped at the Charms master, who was looking at her with a bemused, sad look on his face. He held a hand up to stop her angry reply as he asked, in the same soft voice, "Did you have to destroy those things _before_ facing Voldemort?"

The diminutive professor jumped off his chair and started pacing the floor, effectively cutting off any further response, as he glanced every once in a while, at the still-empty portrait of Dumbledore above them.

"I've been thinking ..." He stopped pacing to frown at the snorts that came from Snape and the Sorting Hat before continuing, "Mr Potter ... you destroyed Voldemort's body in 1981. Whether it was you by yourself or something that your mother did is open to debate. What hasn't changed is that it took him fourteen – almost fifteen _years_ to come back and that with _all_ his Horcruxes intact! Assuming, for the sake of argument, that you defeated him again this time without going after the horcruxes first ... how long do you think it would take him to come back?"

Harry knew that he'd opened his mouth to respond – but could hear nothing. Glancing around from the corner of his eye, he realized that the others were acting similarly: mouths open, throats working but no words escaping. The only ones not doing so were Phineas and Snape in their portraits, contemplative looks on their faces as they, too, stared at the half-goblin professor, a former Duelling Champion for whom strategy, tactics and planning were second nature.

Flitwick shook his head at them. "Exactly! He-Who-Is-Now-Gone spent _years_ as a disembodied spirit with those abominations hidden and his followers walking around as if they were purer than the driven snow – and it _still took him fifteen years to come back! _In all that time, we did _nothing!_ No investigations, no effort to ensure that he wouldn't or couldn't come back and when he did, that fool Fudge and the foul Umbridge led the rest of us in hiding our heads in the sand, wasting _years_ when we could have done _something!_"

Harry felt he had to speak up, to defend Dumbledore's actions – but stopped. Flitwick had a point: too much time had been wasted while Dumbledore dithered and played his games. There was the decade Harry spent with the Dursleys ignorant of the wizarding world, when Dumbledore could have tried looking for Voldemort's disembodied spirit … Merlin, Harry thought, it took Wormtail less than two _months_ to find and contact his Master!

True, Harry thought, the prophesy said that only _he_ could 'vanquish' the Dark Lord … but didn't the first time count? Why did Dumbledore have to wait ten _years_ before making his move – and the first thing he did when Harry Goes to Hogwarts is set up either a test for him … or a trap for Voldemort?

Dumbledore could have told him about the prophecy after he'd defeated Quirrel / Voldemort – why wait four more years? Dumbledore should have suspected that Riddle's diary was a horcrux when Harry brought it to him in '93 – why did he wait another _three_ years before 'confirming' his suspicions? Flitwick told them, during their debriefings after the Battle of Hogwarts, that Albus had never mentioned or even shown him the diary. If the Headmaster had, Flitwick would have confirmed that it was a horcrux, giving them time to undertake search and destroy missions for the abominations.

And it wasn't as if he, _himself_, had to be 'the One' to destroy the Horcruxes! Dumbledore destroyed the ring; Ron took on the locket; the Fiendfyre unleashed by Draco's clueless minions destroyed the diadem; Hermione and her ancestor's fangs handled the cup while Neville took care of Nagini. Of course, he had the 'honour' of taking out the first horcrux – the diary – while Voldemort took out his scar – the last Horcrux … irony or poetic justice?

He glanced at his best friend and their eyes met – they were both thinking of Aberforth's ranting in the Hog's Head when he'd rescued them. At the time, they dismissed it as the ravings of an old man who wouldn't give up his ghosts or his past ... now they had to wonder if it was the anger of a man fed up with manipulations and lies, of hardships and death, who saw what others did not: that the man they looked up to, the shining icon of the Light, was nothing more than a man with feet of clay.

"Hem, Hem." Shacklebolt cleared his throat, "Water under the bridge, Fil. It's over and done with except for the historians and writers to argue and wonder about ..."

"You must admit, however, it does make for a fascinating adventure story – something that will make some _fiction_ writer" – Hermione felt herself flushing as Phineas Nigeullus directed his gaze at her – "millions of galleons in spite of the obvious absurdities, inconsistencies and plot holes ..."

Shacklebolt rolled his eyes before turning back to the others. "As I was saying, the question remains – what can we do about the situation?"

He was looking at Flitwick as he said this, and the pint-sized professor nodded before releasing a sigh. "Honestly? The only thing we can do is play it by ear ... the fact that they called for the meeting rather than simply seizing Mr Potter's vault implies the possibility of compromise."

He gazed at each of them for a moment, lingering longest on Harry and the Minister before continuing, "It would be best to approach this meeting with a view to conciliation rather than belligerence. I somehow doubt that either the goblins or us are prepared for another conflict."

He fell into contemplative silence for a while before continuing, "One thing to remember. The goblins are, rather _were_, a warrior race for whom honour counts highest; they have held on to that ideal even when they went into banking and finance. Profit is valued highly; profit achieved through guile and cunning is valued even higher … but profit without honour is simply dishonour."

"Sort of like a cross between Klingon and Ferengi," Hermione murmured to herself. To her shock, Flitwick beamed at her as he said, "Exactly, Miss Granger! You have hit the proverbial nail on the head!"

Before Hermione could ask about Flitwick's seeming familiarity with one of her favourite TV shows, Harry interrupted her with an idea that had been forming in his head as Flitwick expounded on goblin honour. The idea dropped into the conversation like a hand grenade and the next few minutes were spent in loud, acrimonious debate with the Headmaster's portraits – again with Dumbledore absent – joining in.

In the end, the Minister's decision prevailed – and a house elf was dispatched to the Three Broomsticks to pick up Hermione's bag as well as Phineas' portrait which was still under the bed in 'their' room.

As they waited, McGonagall glanced at an ancient and oft-overlooked timepiece on her desk and realized that it was only mid-afternoon. There was more than enough time before the meeting and she felt the need to satisfy her curiosity. Turning a gimlet eye on Harry and Hermione, she said, "And what about you two? You gave me quite a scare, Hermione, when Harry came rushing into the Great Hall, claiming you were kidnapped ..."

The young woman's raised hand and apologetic look cut off McGonagall's impending rant and Hermione launched into her tale, pulling out papers and photos as she explained to a fascinated McGonagall, Flitwick, and Percy the high points of her day. Shacklebolt and Harry sat quietly, interjecting when needed, but both glancing surreptitiously at the portrait of Snape who had affected a bored and sleepy mien at the narrative.

Eventually, Hermione ran out of words and leaned back, smiling as she felt Harry's warm hand gripping hers. A frowning McGonagall glanced at the Minister who nodded as he said, "We have the time … I suggest that we start with the records Elphias said he sent here, Minerva."

The Headmistress nodded and was about to call an elf when Snape's voice stopped her. "They're in the centre desk drawer, Headmistress."

At her surprised look, he continued (with his patent-pending sneer), "Against regulations, I know – but better that than to have an elf running down to student records every hour or so. I got tired of hosting 'visitors' who all wanted a look at Potter's abysmal grades and decided to keep them here for the next idiot who wished to prove he had better grades than the Boy-Who-Lived!"

"Hey!" Harry's protest was sidetracked by McGonagall's muttering as she struggled with the drawer: "I don't know where the keys are…"

"ARE YOU A WITCH OR NOT?" boomed out from Snape's portrait and a flustered McGonagall glared daggers at the portrait who smirked back. She turned to the desk, wand in hand, and missed the whispered, "That was fun," that Snape said to Phineas who gave him a golf clap before looking at McGonagall, who had pulled out a thick folder and set it on her desk, prepared to open it when Hermione interrupted her.

"Allow me, Headmistress," Hermione said and then, with a raised eyebrow at Snape, placed her wand over the folder and intoned, "_Riddle me this, BATMAN!_"

Shacklebolt and Harry snickered as they recalled Elphias Doge's note, although only Harry (and perhaps Flitwick) caught the reference to the classic comic book hero and his arch enemy. The others – living and painted – were unable to say a word as a golden glow infused the room, centred on the folder before dissipating. Without a word, McGonagall scanned the parchments within, raising an eyebrow as she said, "Well, I can see why Elphias wanted this hidden … it wouldn't do to have V-V-_Riddle_ knowing this."

There was a twinkle in her suspiciously moist eyes as she passed a parchment to Shacklebolt, who perused it briefly before turning to the teens with a wide, wide smile.

"Congratulations, Mr and Mrs Potter!"

From somewhere in the room, a powerful magical pulse erupted, passing through the occupants and the room itself before sending its echoes the length and breadth of Magical Britain – and probably around the world.

Harry, Hermione, Percy and Shacklebolt stared in shock as McGonagall and Flitwick were slammed back into their chairs, backs straight and rigid, eyes open and staring, hands gripping their chair's arms tightly …

Panicked, they looked around for help – only to freeze as they saw the paintings of Snape, Phineas and the other Headmasters (except for the still-empty painting of Dumbledore) seemingly in the same situation: faces blank, eyes staring at nothing, breathing stopped.

Even the Sorting Hat seemed frozen – and they could only glance at each other in bewilderment.

Within the castle, the magical pulse was felt by all but the impact differed greatly …

Older people seemed to be the most affected, albeit in different ways. For most, it was a moment when they stood still with unfocused eyes; only to shake their heads in the next moment, blinking before going back to whatever it was they were doing.

The Hogwarts staff, especially Pomona Sprout and Horace Slughorn, exhibited the same reactions as those in the tower: sitting still as statues for a long moment before biting their lips and shaking their heads, wondering...

In the thestral's paddock, Hagrid was on his substantial behind, his ham-like fists clenching and unclenching as tears fell down his face as he mumbled, "What have I done?"

In the Arithmancy classroom, the Weasleys and Susan jumped back as Remus threw his head back and howled … a long, heart-rending wail of anger and loss – and watched a crying Molly who looked, for the barest of moments, as if she was going to join in with Remus.

In the Hog's Head, Aberforth Dumbledore sat down heavily, the dirty washcloth in one hand forgotten as he stared at the ceiling of the tavern, mumbling to himself, "What the _fuck_ have you done now, you old goat?"

Above his head, a magical portrait went suddenly still. It had shown very little activity over the years but – for the past few hours – was occupied by a young girl and an old man with a long beard who were engaged in an animated conversation that few could follow or easily understand. The young girl cast worried eyes at her companion who had suddenly sat down as if gut punched and could only mumble, "It's too soon, it's too soon, it's too soon..."

Deep within the catacombs of Gringotts, a bruised and bleeding goblin stirred and realized that he was still hanging from his wrists, the chains holding him suspended in the air. He felt the magical pulse pass through him and sighed ... he'd gambled and lost; the only thing left to him now was a merciful blade to end his current misery. _If_, he thought, Ragnok would be willing to grant him that mercy ... somehow, he doubted it.

High above him in an elegant but opulent office, the Clan Chief of the Clan Chiefs of the Goblin Nation paused in his preparations for the meeting with the humans at Hogwarts. He also felt the magical pulse and knew what it meant … and he released a long stream of profanity at the imbecilic toe-rag that was in chains far, far below him. One thought kept swirling in his mind, however: hope that the young scion of the Potters was a magnanimous, forgiving sort...

In Malfoy Manor, the Head of the Family and the Mistress of the House were staring at the other with wide, shocked eyes. Lucius' pale, aristocratic features were ruined by the pasty, unhealthy complexion of his skin while Narcissa's face seemingly glowed from the dark, flushed skin that was in stark contrast to her blonde locks, neither of them unable to express in words the horror and fear that was gripping their guts...

In the Headmistress' office, Harry, Hermione, Percy and Shacklebolt breathed a sigh of relief as Flitwick and Minerva shook their heads from the trance that had gripped them. Before anyone could say a word, however, a visibly-raging Minerva McGonagall jumped to her feet, turned and let loose a bolt of incandescent magic which completely obliterated the magical canvas and frame that once held the twinkling portrait of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Order of Merlin First Class, former Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, former Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, former Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

***

**The Front Lawn, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy**

Harry Potter stood quietly on the front lawn of Hogwarts, shaking his head and wondering why it looked as if the Fates or whichever Deity held sway over the lives of men and mice had it in for him. Either that or the Divine Author who controlled everything in his world seemed to delight in making him run through the hoops...

He shook his head as he looked around the great lawn, sighing as he remembered the last time he'd been here with a horde of people, waiting for someone to arrive: October 30, 1994 ... the day Hogwarts turned out to greet the students from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons who were arriving for the Tri-Wizard Tournament.

The memory gripped him: standing in disciplined rows with Ron, Hermione and his classmates, McGonagall admonishing Parvati before glaring at Gred and Forge, daring them to pull a prank; Dennis and Colin Creevey bouncing on their heels like animated jacks-in-the box, little Natalie McDonald looking around, still awed at everything ...

Where were they now, he wondered? Most of his year mates were missing: the Gryffindors were in St. Mungo's where Lavender and Dean were still recovering along with some of the 'Puffs and 'Claws ... there were very few Slytherins in the ranks and Harry had to grit his teeth at the memory of Pansy Parkinson advocating that he be turned over to Voldemort during the Battle of Hogwarts ...

"Harry?" He blinked and saw the concerned eyes of his best friend on him and he smiled, tremulously, fighting the urge to hug her tighter than Molly Weasley on a good day ... only for Hermione to grab him and provide one of her signature, rib-breaking hugs while whispering softly, "It's all right, Harry, we'll get through this together."

He returned the hug fiercely for a moment before stepping back and admiring her. She looked absolutely stunning to his unbiased eyes – mature, self-assured, and confident, in work robes of a deep blue that matched his own ... but he was still miffed with Winky.

The now-happy elf had quickly conjured robes with elfin magic (although he wondered whether a quick trip to Madam Malkins was the _real_ magic), but insisted that while it was appropriate for him to have the Potter Family crest on his robes, Hermione was _not_ entitled to the same thing. His protestations that Hermione was now his wife in the eyes of magic and entitled to the Potter crest was met by a firm shake of the head and the words, "is not proper _yet_" – an action mirrored by both Shacklebolt and McGonagall, who both said that they would explain later. His glare was met by a similarly steely stare from McGonagall; it was Percy, however, who reminded Harry that they had no more time – the goblins were on their way and they had to hustle to set up for their arrival and reception.

Hermione's hug and kiss on his cheek dispelled his anger and he realized that he was being a prat – this was not a case of his 'elders and betters' withholding information 'for his own good' ... it was a straightforward case of not having the time for explanations or discussions.

Much like the promised discussion between Minerva and Hermione on the matter of house-elves.

And _that_ made him scowl even more.

He'd never really thought of house elves before, at least not in the same way as Hermione and the never to be mentioned S.P.E.W. It still hurt to remember Dobby and his sacrifice … he had promised, as he stood over Dobby's grave, that he would do whatever he could to help them and their kind…

But what the hell was he supposed to do with _twenty _of them?

Twenty house elves bound to his service because he was Lord Harry James Potter, Thirty-Fourth Earl of Ravenscroft, Fifty-Third Head of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter, and – surprise! descendant of Godric Gryffindor.

And he never knew.

Neither did anyone know … except for Albus Fucking Dumbledore, Secret Keeper of far too many secrets than was good for any man.

The mere thought of Dumbledore and he found himself fighting back the red mist that threatened to descend over his mind as sheer, unadulterated rage swept over him.

***

**[Flashback:] Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and ****Wizardry, Earlier**

He had barely heaved a sigh of relief that McGonagall and Flitwick were seemingly unaffected by whatever it was that hit them when McGonagall's office was inundated with a horde of crying, delirious, bouncing house elves wearing tea towels with different crests (including Hogwarts), wrapping themselves around his legs and arms or the chair he was sitting in.

The assault was so sudden and unexpected that no one had time to react – only Hermione's scream of "STOP!" kept him from being crushed beneath the overwhelming horde … and then a high-pitched voice cried, "We's have a mistress! We's have a mistress!"

This time, it was Harry's shout of "STOP!" that kept a shocked Hermione from being overwhelmed. Harry's roar, however, had the elves backing away in fear; several were on the verge of running for the walls or bashing their heads on the nearest hard objects when Harry repeated his order and they stood there quivering as Harry took a deep, calming breath before asking, "Can someone tell me what's going on here?"

Harry and Hermione blinked when a crying Winky pushed to the front of what they now realized was only some twenty or so elves, blinked again as she bowed low to them and said, "Winky remembers, Master Harry … Winky now remembers … she is a House-Elf bound to the service of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter.

"We's," she gestured to the others, "are Potter House Elves until magic, bad magic, made us forgets our bonds." She paused, biting her lip before continuing, "Not knowing what to do, we goes to elf-auction, looking for families to bind to …"

She stopped. Harry kneeled in front of her, lifting her face to meet his eyes as he whispered, "Dobby?"

Winky nodded, sniffling. "Dobby, too, was House Potter elf and betrothed to Winky before forgetfulness happened and we became separated. Dobby went to Malfoys while I went to Crouch family … others here (she indicated several elves) went to Hogwarts while others…"

"I understand, Winky," Harry said calmly although his insides were roiling and his face reflected his complete confusion. His _family_ owned elves? And apparently, more than one? Why? What were they doing … what were their jobs … what the hell was the Potter family doing with all these elves? His eyes met those of a stunned, speechless Hermione who was doing a credible impression of a landed salmon.

"Master?" Winky's squeaky, contrite and frightened voice made him look at her. "We is sorry that we could not remember … one minute we were working, happy, busy and the next moment we were standing outside our homes. Magics be shutting down our homes and throwing us out …"

Harry could only drop to his knees and hug the crying elf; he felt Hermione dropping beside him and hugging both Winky and him which was the signal for the other elves to rush in, also crying and trying to get into a group hug with the pair of tearful teens.

"Just what the hell is going on here?" Kingsley's booming voice was hushed in seeming deference to the moment; his tone, however, made it clear that someone had better start talking or he'd be locking the whole lot of them in the Potions dungeon – with Snape's portrait for company.

It was Flitwick who took centre stage, literally. Climbing on top of McGonagall's desk (as he was wont to do in his classroom), he sat down heavily on the edge, "That magical pulse you felt earlier? It was a modified Fidelius Charm finally breaking."

"How can a Fidelius Charm just 'break'?" Percy Weasley had apparently found his voice but his curiosity was evident – he had, after all, achieved top marks in Charms in both OWLs and NEWTs. "They're supposed to break on the death of the Secret Keeper with the knowledge that was hidden being spread among those who know, making each one a Secret Keeper …"

"I did say 'modified,' didn't I, Mr Weasley?" Flitwick's smile robbed the words of any offense, and Percy nodded. Flitwick continued, "But you're quite correct. A Fidelius breaks upon the death (whether accidental, natural or intentional) of the Secret Keeper and that makes it vulnerable.

"Lily Potter was working on a modified Fidelius which combined features of Family or Blood Wards with the Fidelius, adding another layer to the charm. She hypothesized that a secret can be hidden or 'entrusted' to the collective unconscious or, from another perspective, that magic itself can be 'entrusted' with the secret, ensuring that the knowledge will remain hidden even after the death of the Keeper … the only thing that can break or release the secret in such an event is if specific conditions set by the Keeper are met."

The little man looked around him, realizing that everyone – including portraits, elves and the Sorting Hat – was hanging on to his every word. "I believe that the 'conditions' set for breaking the Secret is for a person in magical authority, such as the Minister of Magic to say the words 'Mr and Mrs Potter' …"

He held a hand up, cutting off Percy who had a look of utter incredulity on his face, and rolled right over his embryonic protests. "Consider what happened – Kingsley merely said those words in jestalthough it is based on a magically-proven fact – in the next moment, Minerva and I are suddenly aware of things that were, _at one time_, literally part of our lives and everyday knowledge.

"The three of you –" indicating Harry, Hermione and Percy – "were not affected because you were never aware of the information that was hidden. I suspect that Kingsley, on the other hand, may have been 'aware' of it but did not consider it as important or had any real impact on him, which is also why he was not as affected as Min and I."

"Excuse me, professor, but what kind of secret could it be that even house-elves are affected?" asked Percy.

It was McGonagall who responded in a hissing whisper that sounded more like a viper than a cat, "Charlus Potter is the Fifty-Second Head of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter and the Thirty-Third Earl of Ravenscroft."

Kingsley, Percy, Harry and Hermione looked at each other in confusion – how could such an innocuous sentence have so much impact in their world?

The pain and bitterness in McGonagall's voice was evident as her eyes flicked to the destroyed portrait of Dumbledore. "Charlus – Lord Potter – is your grandfather, Harry; he was James' father. He was killed in a Death Eater ambush in October '81 … James should have claimed his title as the next Lord Potter but he never did.

"I suspect –" She glanced at Filius who nodded vigorously in confirmation – "that the Charm was cast soon after Charlus was killed, which was why James never took on the mantle. When James was killed …"

She took a deep breath, knowing in her heart what Harry's reaction would be and cursing beneath her breath the person she knew – not 'suspected' but _knew_ – had cast the charm that erased the memory of Charlus' status in their world. "The Potters are an old and wealthy family – they are truly 'ancient' and 'noble' being among the 'First Families' of magical Albion but also granted land by Edward I of England in the late 1200s when a Potter was invested as the Earl of Ravenscroft for services to the Crown.

"They own several properties that I now remember visiting … Potter Manor in London, a seaside residence in Brighton, a villa in the south of France … others around the world, I understand, but have never visited.

"When the charm was cast, all knowledge of Charlus as Lord Potter went hidden – including knowledge of properties and possessions of the Lord and Head of House Potter …"

"Properties?" The word was a whisper laced with infinite pain and Hermione, shocked at the revelation, was not quick enough to stop Mount Potter from exploding, "MY FAMILY OWNED PROPERTIES AND ELVES AND I HAD TO SPEND SIXTEEN FUCKIN' YEARS AT THE DURSLEYS? WHY?"

He felt Hermione's arms embracing him tightly, but he was on the edge of reason as a scream of pain, a _cri de couer_ of anger, roared from his very being, "_WHY?_"

There was no need to ask WHO had done the deed; there was only one person in living memory who would have the sheer guts or will to initiate something like that; only one person with godlike discernment who would think that such an action was necessary; only one person with the power and the will to do it … what Harry needed to know was WHY.

The answer came from a wholly unexpected quarter.

"Use your brains, Potter," Snape's portrait said but strangely, none of the sarcasm, scorn or disdain which had marked his every encounter with Harry, could be heard. It was a voice laced with anger, bitterness, resignation as he continued in a hollow voice, "D'you think Lily would have gone to Godric's Hollow if she knew about the Potter properties?"

The words had dropped into the room like a pebble in a silent pond, but the ripples it created could well be the harbinger of a tsunami of magical destruction. The shocked Flitwick and Shacklebolt stared at each other as the implications came to mind; surreptitiously, both fingered their wands as they warily turned to Harry who now had Hermione in his lap as she embraced him and – surprisingly – McGonagall at his back, rubbing his shoulders in an effort to calm him down.

It seemed to be working, as a seemingly calm and composed Harry Potter stared at the portrait of Snape and asked, "What do you mean, Professor?"

For a long, tense moment, the two were locked in a staring contest, one where Snape broke first as he sighed. "The Potters had numerous properties, true … but Godric's Hollow is not one of them."

"How do you know that, Sev?" Flitwick asked while he kept a watchful eye on Harry.

The portrait sighed before gesturing to Hermione, as he asked, "I assume you've told her _everything_, Potter?"

"No, sir." Harry shook his head. "Bits and pieces … She does know about your mother –" Snape's eyebrows rose at this – "she was the one who realized what the 'Half Blood Prince' was all about."

Snape nodded slowly. "My father was a muggle," he began. Only Percy and Shacklebolt looked surprised; Minerva and Flitwick knew, having known him as student and colleague for nearly two decades. "What very few know is that he was a handyman … fixing muggle appliances and the like.

"And his biggest client was Lord Potter."

The expressions of surprise were muffled; none wanted to distract him from his musings. "The Potters had a fascination with muggle appliances which would have put Arthur Weasley to shame. Except that, being well-off, they could afford to have the real thing, as well as keeping these in working condition unlike the collection of junk that Arthur keeps in his shed.

"Which was how I knew them. My father was always on call to the various properties to fix things … being warded properties and with my father a Muggle, the only way he could do his job was for my mother to portkey or side-along him to whichever property needed his services. Flooing in was out – my father never liked that 'infernal contraption,' as he called it.

"Sometimes I would go along with them … which was how I knew James Potter even before we 'met' on the Hogwarts Express …"

He shifted his gaze to McGonagall and Flitwick. "I hated him … his arrogance, his bullying of others 'lesser' than him, his 'airs' … he was rich, he was magical, and he was the Laird's son! There is no difference between the Potter who walked into Hogwarts as if he owned the place and the _boy_ who taunted me whenever I was in his home. He knew that I was nothing more than the hired help and treated me lower than the house elves …maybe because he knew his father would thrash him if he touched the elves so he took it out on _me!_"

Harry glanced at McGonagall, hoping that the old woman would step in and tell the bitter man off – and sighed when he saw her looking at him, infinite pain and sadness in her eyes and he nodded back.

Snape's memories made it clear – his father was a totally arrogant berk who, Harry now realized, knew of his title and position and had taken on the airs of an Artistocrat a little too literally. He shook his head and focused on Minerva whose Scottish brogue was leaking through: "Wha' cae you expect from the lad, Severus? Growin' up alone in that bloody huge manor with nae but house elves and his _witch_" – it was obvious from her tone that she had substituted a 'b' for the 'w' in the word – "of a mother – and I find it hard to even call Dorea Black-Potter a 'mother'!

"My Jamie tried to teach his namesake proper, he did – but how can one teach properly when we only saw him rarely a' that! T'was a good thing that Charlus hae tol' him never to abuse the elves, else he'da been worse than even Sirius was…"

"Coming to Hogwarts and making friends with Sirius didn't help any," Flitwick interjected, softly.

"Aye," McGonagall said. "They were a right handful, they were but pranks I could live with – it was the meanness of spirit that made me despair o' James ever becoming a man to be proud of. It took a student nearly getting' killed" – she cast a sideways glance at Snape – "as well as Lily almos' killin' 'im before he was able to pull his head out his arse!"

Even Snape had to blink at the last word. He'd known Minerva McGonagall as student and colleague for nearly thirty years, been subjected to her fierce glare and acidic tongue and in all that time had never heard the Scotswoman say anything 'improper,' even when she was in her cups.

He shook his head when he heard the brown nosing Percy Weasley ask, "How come you know so much about the Potter properties, Headmistress?"

A pained look passed through McGonagall's face as she looked apologetically at Harry. "The Burns and McGonagalls have been allies and companions to Clan Potter for centuries beyond imagining. They were crofters on Potter lands but the Lairds had always treated us well, considering us more family than mere tenants.

"Charlus was my Jamie's best friend and stood with him at our wedding; Jamie was supposed to be your father's godfather, Harry, but Dorea put her foot down. She said that since your father was already named after my Jamie, someone else should stand as godfather, though in truth, she didn't think a crofter's bairn was even worthy of her _son_ ..." She sniffled. "My Jamie died in 1970 when James was here … years later, when you were born, James asked his Aunt Minnie to be your godmother …"

"You were my godmother?" Harry whispered, shocked. "But I thought … I thought …"

"Sirius is – was – your godfather, Harry," McGonagall explained. "When the Charm was cast, we lost all memory of Charlus as Lord Potter along with every memory where 'Lord' Potter was present – including your christening. Another ceremony was done in October … where Sirius and Alice Longbottom were named as your godparents."

Harry had stood up while McGonagall was explaining; Hermione had stepped to one side, teary as she listened to the older woman's tale, cursing beneath her breath at the incompetent old coot whose interference had denied her Harry years of a normal childhood. Her mind flashed back to the tent where Harry explained, once again, how Dumbledore delivered the prophecy to him – and shook with rage as she recalled the old cootie claiming that he'd placed Harry with the Dursleys so he could have a 'normal' childhood.

Harry said he understood – being raised in the magical world would have made fame go to his head … but now, Hermione had her doubts. Minerva had more claim to Harry as a magical godparent than even the blood-related, non-magical Dursleys. Knowing her, Hermione knew that she would never allow Harry's fame get to his head – she'd have learned her lesson from James Potter's arrogance and would have taken steps to ensure her godson didn't follow in his father's footsteps.

And as for the so-called 'protections' made because of Lily's sacrifice … it wasn't as if Number 4 Privet Drive would be the _only_ place in Britain where such 'protections' could be placed!

The Burrow had been more than adequately protected – she remembered Ginny saying that they'd been all right there until Old Snake Face _himself_ had gone there to bring down the wards … Grimmauld also had more than enough protections even before the Fidelius was cast …

She blinked as connections formed in her churning mind.

Fact: The Potters were an ancient and noble family with properties under some, as Minerva said, 'nasty and vicious protections' – probably on the level of or even better than Grimmauld Place or the Burrow. Add on a Fidelius to one of the Potter properties and it would have been nigh on impregnable.

Even if Voldemort himself showed up, it would have taken time to break through rather than, as far as Harry could remember, Voldemort literally waltzing into the house!

Fact: The charm that hid the knowledge of Lord Charlus Potter was cast _after_ he died – months after Dumbledore learned the prophecy, weeks after two babies were born to 'those who had defied the Dark Lord three times' … born to 'ancient and noble' families with well-protected properties whose defences could be easily upgraded …

She didn't know where the Longbottoms had hidden out, but she suspected that they'd stayed on in their ancestral home. Dame Augusta Longbottom would not allow anything else … and it would have been dicey to try to cast the modified Fidelius to hide any knowledge of the Longbottom's heritage while she was alive.

Dame Longbottom was a very public figure, Neville had said over the years – charity balls and functions, sessions of the Wizengamot, teas and garden parties with the Grand Old Ladies that Neville hated with a passion since, chubby boy that he was, he'd been treated to years of old ladies pinching his cheeks…

The Potters, from what Sirius had said, were more the quiet, sedate kind. Charlus and, surprisingly, Dorea Black-Potter preferred anonymity – living far from London, seldom attending the Wizengamot or Ministry affairs. Which meant few people would have interacted with them ... making it much easier to 'hide' the knowledge of Charlus' status – and denying James the knowledge of his birth right.

And that thought led to the next one: casting the charm would have literally thrown baby Harry and his parents on the street with no knowledge about their ancestral homes or properties. Except that Harry and his parents were _not_ living in a Potter property at the time. Sirius and Remus had reminisced about visiting the Potters at a London flat where James and Lily lived … 'because Lily hated apparition and James loathed the floo' – something, it seemed, that had been passed on to Harry.

The Potters had a London flat which was close to the Ministry and Diagon Alley. They'd given the flat up in order to move to Godric's Hollow because of the 'threat' of Voldemort where they went under the Fidelius and had Wormtail as Secret Keeper…

All of which led to the conclusion that …

"THAT FUCKING BASTARD! HE SET YOU UP!"

The roar of a wounded lioness would have paled beside a totally riled Hermione Granger; an approaching thundercloud would have fled in shame at the magnificent sight of an angry Hermione Granger.

Harry broke away from the embrace of his now-revealed godmother and threw his arms around a shaking Hermione and held on tight; Hermione also wrapped her arms around him as she blubbered and stammered an explanation … while a bit confusing, enough got through the tears and hitched breathing that he and the others understood what she was saying…

Two babies, one prophesied with the power to vanquish a Dark Lord – but the 'Chosen One' had to be marked. But how can 'The One' be marked if both were under heavy protections?

Simple – manipulate one of the two into a vulnerable position.

Remove him from his ancestral home … let them _associate_ with people of questionable loyalties. They'd known there was a spy in the order and it could be anyone … Sirius because of his family; Remus because of his ailment; Mundungus because of his 'connections;' Daedalus because of his foppishness …

It was a set up for disaster and it went into motion when Dumbledore cast the spell obliviating their world's memories of Lord Potter and his properties.

As Harry listened, he felt something breaking within him … something hot, raging and begging for release in a torrent of destruction aimed at anything and everything that he could find to vent on …

Unknown to him, his magic was pulsing along with Hermione's – and each pulse was causing magic to flare all over the place – demolishing an armchair, blowing open the windows, sending vases flying, sending elves, portraits, and people scurrying for cover.

The elves cowered behind McGonagall's desk; Kingsley Shacklebolt, Filius Flitwick and Percy Weasley had cast shields while edging towards the door; the portraits of Headmasters past fled (Dillys Derwent to her frame in St. Mungo's, Phineas Nigellus to his other portrait inside Hermione's enchanted bag).

Unfortunately for Severus Snape, he was too new at this game to know what he could do so he was left to cower behind his portrait's chair. McGonagall had needed a wand to obliterate Dumbledore's portrait; scary Granger's eyes were flashing such that he feared a mere glance at his painting would incinerate him. Although it wouldn't be _that_ bad, he thought to himself …

***

**The Front Lawn, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy**

"Are ye alright, bairn?"

Harry Potter shook his head to clear the cobwebs, the memories receding as he saw the concerned eyes of the Headmistress and realized that McGonagall's hand was on his arm, a sign of affection that ageless Scots had never shown anyone before.

He gave a tremulous smile as he looked around, noting that nothing much had changed in the time that his mind had run the memories of an eventful afternoon in the Headmistress' office. The students, adults and staff of Hogwarts were still arrayed around them; Minister Shacklebolt was still standing tall as an obsidian idol to one side with Percy beside him, both of them, however, shooting him occasional worried looks.

"_Aam braw_, godmother."

McGonagall blinked; she had always known that Harry was an extraordinary boy and man – but for him to say "I'm fine" in Gaelic was beyond imagining. She caught the amused glances exchanged by Harry and Hermione and raised an eyebrow in question.

"Hermione got tired of hearing me say 'I'm fine' every time she asked how I was during our fifth year. So I asked a few of our friends – Seamus Finnigan, Parvati Patil, Su Li – how to say 'I'm fine' in their native languages."

He snickered as Hermione punched his arm. "You should have seen Hermione's face when she asked me how I was doing and I replied, '_Aam braw._' When she said, 'What?' I answered '_sijambo_', which is Swahili for the same thing."

"An excellent use of your free time, then, Harry … five points to Gryffindor."

Harry's smile faded. "Natalie McDonald was trying to teach me Gaelic, ma'am … there's no word yet of her?"

McGonagall felt her eyes prickling with tears – another of her young lions missing. Natalie had joined Hogwarts in time for the Tri-Wizard but, as a muggle-born witch, was a prime target for Snatchers and Death Eaters. She hadn't returned to Hogwarts this past year and there had been no word of her or her family …

"We cae onla hope that the wee ones made it, Harry," she said as she tried to control her breathing. She smiled as she felt the teen's arms around her, giving her a comforting hug before stepping back and looking Harry in the eye. "_Fit loch_,' Harry?"

He took a deep shuddering breath as Hermione and Minerva watched him, concerned, and he shook his head as he answered, "I've been better, ma'am … still need to wrap things in my head and sort it all out."

"Aye." The older witch said with a sigh; there was nothing more to say. She was relieved at the thought that she still had an office – although, if worse had come to worse, she could still camp out in her old office, the one she'd occupied for almost thirty years.

She shook herself of her thoughts of what had almost happened when the combined magics of Harry and Hermione threatened to blow them into the next dimension; she had instinctively grabbed hold of the pair in a tight hug – and found herself in the middle of a group hug composed of elves and people as Winky, Kingsley, Filius, Percy and the elves joined in, helping to ground the two and dissipate their building magic.

"Eh?" She'd allowed her ruminations to distract her from the two young people with her and she shook her head as she tried to understand why Hermione was staring at Harry like a deer caught in headlights. Something about secrets but what kind of … her eyes widened as her brain finally caught up and she opened her mouth to interrupt …

"Oh honestly, Harry, it's not that big a deal! I owled Professor McGonagall early last summer asking for help in obliviating my parents. I've _read_ about it but wasn't sure if I could do it!" She stopped him with a gesture. "Memory charms are tricky, Harry, you know that! I wasn't about to start practicing on my parents so I owled the Professor…"

"I told her I had a better idea," McGonagall interrupted them. "My daughter was in town trying to convince me to leave … I dinna want to leave the bairns in case the school opened …"

"Excuse me? Your _daughter?_ How come I never knew …"

McGonagall smiled. "Probably because I never talked much about it … security, you know."

Hermione took pity on Harry's confused state. "The professor's daughter is Samantha M. Wallace, the Minister of Magic for Australia."

"The Minister is your _daughter_?" McGonagall nearly jumped at the incredulous voice behind her and turned to the gobsmacked faces of Shacklebolt and Percy. She smiled and nodded, understanding the awed look on Kingsley's face. Her Sammie had quite the reputation with Magical Law Enforcement in the Pacific Rim, being a legend on par with the likes of Mad-Eye Moody but thankfully without the eye or the wooden claw for a foot … although she shuddered at the thought of her bairn _almost_ becoming like Captain Hook. She shook her head and tuned in on Hermione …

"Anyway, Minister Wallace offered asylum to my parents and they left soon after. I asked the Professor to obliviate me and 'replace' the memory with the one I told you – of using Memory Charms them and hiding them under other names in Australia. The Professor lifted the charm the other day … which was why I was so knackered and went to bed early."

There was no need to say anything more – Harry realized that Hermione turning in early that night provided the opportunity for the Malfoys to kidnap her and Ron out the castle … He blinked when he realized that, while his godmother was talking to Hermione, she was also casting an evil, wicked grin at him and he gulped, wondering what anvil was heading directly for his head this time …

"Communications has been difficult," he heard McGonagall say to Hermione. "Although I believe that it's a given that they know what's happened here already so I suspect you'll be seeing Daniel and Emma before long."

She smirked in Harry's direction. "It will also give you the chance to correct your dress robes."

"Ma'am?"

"The Potter Crest on Hermione's robes, Harry. Winky's right. Tis not proper for Hermione to be wearing your family crest – not until you're properly wed."

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but McGonagall went right over him. "Tradition, Mr Potter. While you and Hermione are considered married in the eyes of magic, it is not considered legal and binding until you (a) place a ring on her finger; (b) pledge your troth to one another before family, friends and a Ministry-approved Binder or other authority.

"Only then can Hermione be allowed to wear your family crest on her robes."

Harry smiled – what could be so difficult with that? If that was all it took to make Hermione and him married in the eyes of law and magic …

"Which presupposes, of course, that you get Dan and Emma Granger's permission to marry their daughter."

Gulp.

Magic could do a lot of things, Harry knew, but did it have something to do with the sudden lump in his throat, the sweat on his forehead, the oh-so-tight band around his chest … and the hole where his stomach once resided?

Meeting the parents shouldn't be a problem – he had, after all, already defeated a Dark Lord, not only once but several times; slain a basilisk; ran rings around one dragon and escaped on the back of another; faced giant spiders, Inferi and so on … what can two dentists do?

Two dentists who just happened to be Hermione's parents. A memory from their first year at Hogwarts flashed through his mind – Ron calling Hermione 'brilliant but scary.' The thing was, he thought, it had to come from somewhere … chances were that Hermione's mother was brilliant while her father was scary …

Or the other way around.

Or maybe even both.

Harry shuddered. True, they hadn't really done – _much_ – of anything but still …

His thoughts were interrupted as he heard Shack's low voice say, "Heads up, people, here they come." He shook his head of those thoughts and focused; the goblins were arriving and game faces were the order of the day.

He banished thoughts of Hermione's scary mother and brilliant father from his mind for the moment; he still had time to write out a will, right?

He shook his head.

Just another day in the life of Harry Potter.

**A/N. Hopefully the next chapter won't take as long to work the kinks out of. **


	8. Chapter 8

**Grâce aux Malfoys**

**Standard Disclaimer: Nope, not mine, never has been and never will be. All characters that you recognize are the property of Scottish author and the various companies and whatnot who have a slice of a lucrative pie. My eternal gratitude to Ms Rowling, however, for letting us romp in her playground.**

**Author's Notes**: The usual apologies for the delay in the update and my continuing gratitude to all those who have commented, or marked this as a favourite and included me – and this story – in their favourites.

Two more chapters to go and hopefully, the last chapters will be uploaded very soon. One chapter is almost complete and the last (an epilogue) has been blocked out for some time.

Without further ado …

**Chapter 8.**

**The Front Lawn, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

"Heads up, people. Here they come."

It was a measure of the Minister's commanding presence that the people gathered on the front lawn visibly straightened, flexed their shoulders and took on a serious, determined air.

Kingsley Shacklebolt looked around and gave a tight smile of approval even as he straightened his robes and put his game face on. This was his first 'official' function as Acting Minister of Magical Britain and – he sincerely hoped – it wouldn't be his last.

Try as he might, though, he couldn't help a worm of unease from squirming in his mind.

They'd planned for this 'meeting' with the precision of a military campaign or a Steven Spielberg production.

Hagrid, as Keeper of the Keys and Grounds and assisted by house elves wearing footmen's uniforms from a century before, would accompany the thestral-drawn carriages to Hogsmeade where the goblins would gather in front of the Three Broomsticks. Hagrid would then lead the procession to the Front Lawn where Minister Shacklebolt (with Headmistress McGonagall and Deputy Headmaster Flitwick on either side) would stand, ready to welcome their guests with the appropriate words and ceremony. Standing behind and to the left of Minerva would be Harry and Hermione (as nominal Head Students) while Percy would be standing behind and to the right of Flitwick, as head of Goblin Liaison. Remus and Tonks would be in the front row behind their 'leaders' while the others (including Aurors and DA members) would be spread among the crowd, alert but non-threatening – no wands in evidence.

Simple.

Except for a few things that bothered him.

For one – why the Three Broomsticks? Gringotts had a Hogsmeade branch. Stands to reason, Shacklebolt thought, that the goblins will use their own transportation network to get from their main office to the Hogsmeade branch and proceed from there … so why 'gather' at the Three Broomsticks?

Second – why were _all_ the carriages in use for this? He was looking out the Headmistress' office when the carriages departed and he'd idly voiced the question of how many goblins were coming to visit.

The only times when _all_ the carriages were used were on the first and last day of the school year – the first, to transport students Second Year and above from Hogsmeade station to the school; the last, to move the students from school to station for the return trip to London.

Even Hogsmeade visits did not warrant all the carriages being used since only Third Years and above needed them … so how many goblins were visiting?

And the most vexing question of all: what was this about? True, Ragnok said he wanted to meet with him and Harry – but did that require so many carriages? Or so many goblins? And did this have anything to do with the shocking revelation about Harry's heritage which had been hidden away for so long?

Goblins were, for some reason, immune from mind and compulsion magic – which made them the perfect bankers and financial managers for the wizarding world. After all, what trust can be placed in a bank if any competent wizard can use the Imperious or other compulsion spells to make an illegal withdrawal?

The question was, what did the goblins know about Harry's inheritance? True, Filius had been affected by whatever spell or ritual Dumbledore used (they all agreed that no one else could have done it) – but Filius was the first to admit that he could have been affected since he was not 'full' goblin.

He shook his head and squared his shoulders – the lead carriage was in sight and the next few minutes would tell the tale.

The crowd stood in tense expectation as the carriages rolled to a stop and elves jumped down to open the doors. From the lead carriage, a distinguished-looking goblin wearing a well-tailored waistcoat and half-trousers stepped out, followed by a decidedly feminine goblin in beautifully embroidered robes …

Kingsley Shacklebolt blinked when a vaguely familiar face came into view behind the female goblin – a once stocky, now rather thin man with an arm in a sling, who limped as he stepped down from the carriage –

"DADDY!" The shout rent the air, quickly followed by cries of joy and surprise as people – some healthy, others apparently walking wounded – began stepping out from the other carriages, several being assisted by goblins and elves.

The disciplined ranks of Hogwarts' defenders broke; Nymphadora Tonks-Lupin led the charge, heading straight for the wizard who'd shared the carriage with Ragnok and his companion, crying "DADDY!" the whole time.

Chaos was inevitable (the Thestrals that everyone could now see rearing up in their harnesses from the commotion) were it not for Hagrid who, placing two fingers in his mouth, let out an ear-piercing whistle that calmed the unearthly horses and froze everyone in their tracks.

Except for Tonks who was face down on the grass, having apparently tripped in her dash for her father. In the sudden silence, Ted Tonks' long-suffering voice came loud and clear: "My apologies, Clan Chief. My daughter is rather … excitable."

"To say nothing of clumsy," Remus' aggrieved voice followed, just as Tonks leaped to her feet, eyes blazing and apparently anxious to start throwing curses at her husband for his remark. Her father's sharp "Dora!" made her pause – allowing the goblin chief to step forward and say loudly, "Please! Let us not stand on ceremony! This is a joyous occasion for all!"

Ragnok's words triggered a more controlled surge towards the humans who accompanied the goblins, leading to exuberant reunions all over the lawn.

As families reunited and friends embraced, Flitwick, Minerva and Shacklebolt approached the Leader of the Goblin Nation.

Flitwick took the lead and saluted the Goblin leader with a clenched fist over his heart; Ragnok returned the salute but followed this by wrapping Flitwick in his arms and lifting him up before setting him down and giving the diminutive professor a slap on the back that would have staggered a lesser man as the goblins with him (who'd approached from the other carriages) snickered in the background.

Shaking his head, Flitwick then introduced McGonagall and Shacklebolt with the former curtseying while the Minister bowed. Ragnok returned with a fist on chest salute before extending his hand to shake theirs.

Harry and Hermione stood back, watching exultant reunions (they recognized Natalie MacDonald surrounded by her year-mates) and biting their lips in sympathetic pain at the sight of a few who wandered around seemingly aimless, searching the crowd for a remembered face – and finding none.

"Harry?" Shacklebolt's deep voice interrupted their thoughts and Harry saw that the Minister was beckoning him over. He took a deep breath and, grabbing Hermione's hand, walked over. Stopping a few paces from the group, the two stood at attention for a moment before simultaneously bowing at the waist to the goblin leader as Shacklebolt performed the introductions: "Director Ragnok, may I present Harry James Potter, Heir-Apparent of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter and his … best friend and companion, Hermione Jane Granger.

"Harry Potter, Hermione Granger – Director Ragnok of Gringotts Worldwide, Clan Chief of the Clan Chiefs of the Goblin Nation and his Consort and life-mate, Reena."

The two teens straightened and Harry took a step forward, hand extended, saying, "Clan Chief Ragnok, Consort Reena. A pleasure to meet you both."

For a long moment, Harry stood with his hand out as deep, dark eyes locked with his. He was beginning to wonder if he had committed a breach in protocol when the apparently middle-aged goblin sighed before extending his hand and touching Harry's briefly.

"Potter." Turning his head, he gave a short neck bow to Hermione. "Miss Granger." He bit his lip, looking uncomfortable for a moment, before addressing Harry. "Protocol dictates that I address you as 'Mister' Potter until the time you ascend to your titles. It would seem that, if not for … _interference_ from wizards or witches unknown, I should be addressing you as 'Lord' Potter now. My apologies."

"No need for apologies, Clan Chief," responded Harry. "I assume that you were affected, as we all were, by whatever ritual or magic was used to hide the knowledge of my inheritance from our world?" At Ragnok's raised eyebrow, Harry continued as he inclined his head to one side, "Deputy Headmaster Flitwick was kind enough to explain. He had emphasized your nation's immunity to mind and compulsion magic; as a half-goblin, however, he was unsure whether the effect on him extended to yours.

"It would seem that whatever was cast or used has affected us all. As such, no blame or culpability can be imputed to the Nation for any lapses or errors. If anything, blame or censure should be attached to the _person_ responsible, whoever it may be,"

"Well said, Mr Potter. The Nation thanks you."

The ensuing silence was awkward as Harry and Ragnok, Hermione and Reena assessed the other – all of them waiting for the next move. The silence lengthened and human and goblin mouths opened to speak when ethereal phoenix song washed over everyone, just seconds before a flash of flame had everyone blinking, except for Harry's excited cry of "Fawkes!"

Harry's elation was replaced by a soft and pained "Oh" of disappointment as they stared at the beautiful blue and white phoenix flying above them, singing as it made a circuit of the lawn before gliding elegantly to McGonagall's outstretched arm.

"Hello, Anastasia. I trust all is well?" McGonagall said as she conjured an elegant perch on the lawn, to which the phoenix hopped before extending a scroll to the Headmistress. McGonagall turned to see everyone, including the goblins, gaping at her.

It was Ragnok who broke the silence. "I didn't know you had a phoenix companion, Headmistress."

"Unfortunately, Clan Chief, Anastasia isn't mine," McGonagall said as she removed the scroll and gently scratched the firebird's chest, which set it crooning. "She's my daughter's familiar."

McGonagall smiled at the goblin leader's raised eyebrow. "Samantha Minerva McGonagall Wallace … she dropped the McGonagall when she came of age, saying that she didn't want to be labelled a candy for the rest of her life." She sobered. "We also felt it best to obscure her origins, for reasons I am sure you appreciate."

"I see." The goblin chief sounded distracted and McGonagall frowned. Turning, she blinked when she saw that the phoenix had locked eyes with Harry Potter and was holding a seeming conversation with him: a burst of phoenix song would be followed by Harry nodding, shaking his head, or shrugging his shoulders – like a man giving non-verbal responses to questions asked.

As they watched, the phoenix and the young man bowed to the other and Harry turned to the others with a sigh.

"Harry?" Hermione asked worriedly as she gave him a hug.

"Hmm?" he absently replied. "Oh – Fawkes is all right. He's home now but would be back soon."

He blinked when he felt Hermione pushing him back and staring at him. "What?" he said petulantly – and then realized what he just said. "What? Didn't you hear what she said?"

"Ummm – no," replied Hermione, shaking her head – an action that everyone within earshot emulated.

Harry rolled his eyes as a series of notes that sounded like laughter came from the phoenix. "Great! First, talk to snakes … now I can talk to a bloody bird?"

He raised an eyebrow at an indignant squawk. "Well, what else are you? I know … I know," he said, in a placating manner. "You're not just _a _bird, you're _THE _bird." The phoenix responded with a sound suspiciously like a raspberry. Rolling his eyes, he turned to McGonagall. "Umm, Headmistress? The letter? I think Ana's waiting for a reply."

"Oh!" McGonagall shook off her surprise and scanned the letter, smirking momentarily before schooling her face into impassivity and turning to Shacklebolt and Ragnok.

"The Minister of Magic for Australia," she began in a formal tone, "extends her congratulations to the magical peoples of Britain –" she nodded at Ragnok who bowed back – "for removing the blight on the world that is Voldemort. She expresses a wish to visit and pay her respects."

She paused. "If you don't mind, Minister, Clan Chief, I would like to invite her to dine with us tonight." At their nods, she continued, "She also begs our indulgence as she wishes to bring some … _guests_ … with her."

"Guests, Headmistress?" Percy asked. McGonagall glanced at Harry with an evil smile before responding. "Ms Granger's parents will be joining her."

"Is it too late to have a will prepared?"

The silence that followed Harry's unthinking outburst was broken by a bark of laughter followed by a loud 'OOF!!' as Reena elbowed the goblin leader in the ribs. Straightening, Ragnok said in a pained voice, "Gringotts would be more than happy to assist, Lord Potter."

"Ummm … thank you?"

It was Anastasia's trilling laughter (for that was the only way to describe the burst of phoenix 'song') that broke the awkward moment as goblin, human and half-goblin smiled or silently commiserated with Harry. McGonagall couldn't hide her smirk as she penned a reply on the parchment and handed it to the phoenix who'd jumped to Harry's shoulder and was crooning sympathetically to him.

The phoenix took the parchment in her beak and leaped, disappearing in a ball of flame even as phoenix song surrounded them.

McGonagall broke the ensuing silence, "It will take Anastasia some time to head back; may I suggest we retire to the castle for our meeting?" She gave both Harry and Shacklebolt a meaningful glance, to which the Minister responded, "Of course, Headmistress. If you would lead the way?"

As they proceeded to the open doors of Hogwarts, an errant thought flashed through Harry's mind: all they needed was a priest incanting prayers as the party headed for the gallows and his impending doom.

***

**The Front Parlour, Malfoy Manor **

It was a silent family that sat down to tea in Malfoy Manor – a most accurate term, Draco Malfoy thought to himself, as 'tea' was the only thing they had. No scones, no sandwiches, no sweets … nothing but tea.

Not even milk or cream.

And no house elf to serve them.

He sighed; who could have thought that the Malfoys would sink so low? They were the top of the magical food chain only a year before … and now, reduced to this. He shuddered as he wondered what would be for dinner tonight – the elves had always done the cooking at Malfoy Manor; with no elves around (and no prospect of getting a replacement soon), it was either scrounge in the kitchen or starve.

He watched as his mother poured; one thing he could say for Narcissa Malfoy nee Black, her hands didn't even tremble. As he watched, his mind drifted off to the events that led to the present situation …

They'd adjourned to the parlour after their tense lunchtime discussion. His father, in a rare display of affection, had offered to teach him the basics of magical poker while his mother curled up on the lounge with a book. He was about to lay down his cards – a straight flush – when the magical pulse hit and he sat there confused, wondering who the hell Charlus Potter was.

Only to gape at the sight of his wide-eyed father sitting frozen in front of him, mouth open, cards forgotten – comically in the same pose that his mother was in, except that it was her book on the floor.

Their stupor was broken by a loud crash from the door, and all three Malfoys were on their feet with wands drawn – only to see Blinky the House-Elf standing there, the Malfoy sterling silver tea service on the floor where he'd dropped it, eyes glazed and defocused. Seconds or minutes passed before the elf shook itself from his immobile pose, suddenly standing straight and small before declaring loudly, "Yous is _not_ Blinky's masters!"

Before he could pop away, a silvery curse impacted the elf – and Draco watched as its head separated from its body before the elf slumped to the floor, followed by an unholy screech from Narcissa Malfoy: "_WHAT THE HELL HAVE YOU DONE NOW?_"

"Stopping him," a shaken Lucius replied. He shook his head as he stared at his wife, "Don't you see, Narcissa? _He's a Potter elf_ – why else would he declare that we are not his masters, so soon after that damned block was lifted? He'd probably be on his way to _Potter_ if I didn't stop him … if he had, all our plans would be ruined! I did what I had to do!"

Draco fully expected his mother to start screeching worse than a Molly Howler – and gaped as she slumped to the floor, hands over her face even as his father wordlessly began banishing the evidence of the house-elf's demise from the room – including the food spilled when the magical pulse hit.

He glanced at his father, sitting and staring into the distance, unaware of the cup of tea in his hand. Who could have known that a simple and straightforward 'prank' could become so complicated so soon? Although to be fair, no one could have anticipated what the old goat Dumbledore had done …

He shook his head of the thought; unless his father's plans came to fruition and Draco became the Head of the Black Family, his mother – and even he, himself, would have no choice but to _work_. He shuddered at that … what sort of work would _he_ find with average grades in everything except Potions (and that only because of Snape's tutoring)?

No, Draco thought, the only chance to avoid that fate was to be declared the Head of the Black Family … but that seemed to be a slim chance that was getting slimmer with each passing hour.

Potter, he thought viciously. Who would have thought – Potty, the Half-Blood Prince, Head of an Ancient and Most Noble House, with _titles _in both magical and muggle worlds and an unbroken magical lineage going back _centuries_?

Or that Potty's _grandmother_ was Dorea Black, which made the _batard _the _senior heir to House Black_. There was no need for Sirius Black's Blood Adoption – except that the memory of Potter's lineage had been removed from their world …

The lifting of Dumbledore's block – they all agreed he was the only one who could have done it – meant that Gringotts and the Ministry would investigate … which would lead to Potter's Black inheritance which could lead to Lucius' 'prank' and all it implied … which would mean the end of the Malfoy influence forever.

To say nothing of the Malfoys themselves.

Or maybe not, Draco thought. Lucius' quick action ensured that the only one outside the family who knew the entire plot was silenced. Lucius insisted that he had nothing to do with keeping the Black inheritance from Potty … possible, Draco thought. His father had done quite a few stints as a guard at the bank – further humiliation by the Dark Lord of his once-trusted lieutenant – he could have overheard something. He was sneaky enough for that …

He shook his head. Four months. If Potty didn't marry or name an heir in that time … he could only hope that Lucius was correct, and the Prophet's story on the Weasel-Granger 'wedding' would send Potty running for the hills and out of their lives.

He sighed, covering this by appearing to be blowing on his tea.

It was going to be a long four months.

***

**Anteroom off the Great Hall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

It was a stately if informal procession that entered the castle, headed for the Great Hall and an anteroom that Harry was all too familiar with from his fourth year.

In the lead was Filius Flitwick and Ragnok's consort Reena who were engaged in an animated conversation that Ragnok, who was following behind with Kingsley Shacklebolt at his side, was watching with a grin. Behind the Clan Chief and the Minister strolled Harry, Hermione and McGonagall, who were also watching the half-goblin and the goblin consort in amusement.

Trailing behind were Percy Weasley (who was looking at the 'procession' disapprovingly), while Remus (who had left Tonks with her father outside) was engaging several older goblins – who had the look of advisors to Ragnok about them, being in the same sort of elegant outfit as their leader – in a conversation.

Taking up the rear in a defensive formation were several goblins whose movements shouted 'protection detail' to anyone who cared to look. Even they, however, were clearly amused at the conversation taking place at the head of the procession.

"So, Fil," Reena said to her diminutive companion. "Deputy Headmaster already? My dear old dad would be so pleased … Little Fil Flitwick, all grown up and Deputy Headmaster of Hogwarts."

She grinned at the blushing professor and turned to wink at her husband, who smirked back. Ragnok turned to Shacklebolt and the others behind them. "Reena's father is the Headmaster of our equivalent to Hogwarts … Filius, Reena and I were in the same class until Filius decided to transfer to Hogwarts where Armando Dippet accepted him."

"It was a loss to the Nation, Minister Shacklebolt," Reena said. "Filius was well on his way to a Mastery in Charms even then, as well as becoming a rising star on the duelling circuit. Unfortunately," her expression darkened as did her husband's, "_circumstances_ at the time made him opt for your world. Many of us were saddened to see him go but heartened that he has made his mark."

"Your loss, our gain, Consort Reena," Kingsley said in his deep voice. "I have to admit that I owe my current position to Filius; he has generously lent his time during my school days and after in helping me hone my combat skills."

"I am right here, you know," the red-faced Flitwick piped up. "Although I haven't yet congratulated you, Reena, on either your acceptance as instructor at the Academy or both of you, on the latest addition to your family! When will I get a chance to see the newest rascal?"

A shadow passed over the faces of Ragnok and his consort – something that all nearby noticed. Flitwick spoke quickly, "Is there something wrong, my friend?"

The consort shook her head and smiled, although this did not seemingly reach her eyes. "No, no … the little one is fine. Her naming day is coming soon but she does misses her playmate so." She thought for a moment. "When you have time for a visit, Fil, I would appreciate it if you ask Miss McDonald to join you. She is not aware of our private access and cannot be told of these, but I have no wish to deny my little one of her companionship."

The procession stopped as Flitwick, McGonagall, Harry and Hermione stopped to gape at the consort. It was McGonagall who broke the silence: "Miss McDonald? _Natalie_ McDonald? I thought …"

"We saw her outside, Headmistress," Harry interjected. "She was there with her family but we were unable to approach …"

"Thank Merlin," McGonagall whispered. She smiled, tremulously, at Ragnok and his consort. "She was one of my students and a member of my house … as well as a good friend of these two (indicating Harry and Hermione). Being Muggle-Born, she was unable to attend last year and since we had no word of her …"

"I understand, Headmistress," Reena said. "She and her family were granted asylum by the Nation and has been with us for some time. We were more than happy to have her."

There was a hint of something more in Reena's voice but no one was sure how to comment on it. Minister Shacklebolt cleared his throat, "Hem, Hem. I was unable to say this earlier, Clan Chief, Consort Reena … but I wish to express the Ministry's gratitude and appreciation for the … 'repatriation' of our citizens."

He paused and shook his head. "My apologies but I cannot find a more suitable term … that sounded like you were returning prisoners of war but it is obvious that that is not the case …"

"No apologies needed, Minister Shacklebolt," Ragnok responded. "The Nation understands … in fact, the Nation owes a debt of gratitude to those who were with us."

He smiled, a smile mixed with sadness, pain and a hint of anger, at Shacklebolt's raised eyebrow. "Therein lies a tale, Minister, but all in good time …"

Shacklebolt blinked; he hadn't realized that they had passed through the Great Hall and were already standing at the door of the anteroom where their meeting was to be held. Percy had unobtrusively moved ahead of them and had opened the door and, with a flourish, bowed them through – every inch the perfect assistant to the Minister of Magic.

Without a word, the Minister of Magic and the Clan Chief of the Clan Chiefs of the Goblin Nation entered the room, followed by Flitwick and Consort Reena – and then Percy followed, leaving Hermione, Harry and McGonagall staring at his back before the three placed hands over their mouths to stop themselves snickering. Behind them, Remus was biting his lip while the goblin advisors were rolling their eyes in amusement.

Harry paused before entering, a fleeting memory of a Halloween years before flashing through his mind. He remembered that moment, wondering what the _hell_ was going on with the Goblet of Fire and why Fate chose him as its boy toy … and stopped when he saw a small table with two facing chairs in the centre of the room, a single chair slightly behind and to the right of each of the facing seats, clearly for a designated advisor or assistant while the walls were lined with chairs – obviously for whoever else was expected to be here, whether advisors or spectators.

Ragnok was standing to one side of the table; he saw Reena by the wall behind her husband; without a word, an older goblin that Remus had been speaking with slipped by his side and walked to the chair immediately behind Ragnok.

It was the sight of the Minister, McGonagall and Percy standing by the wall opposite the goblins that truly disturbed Harry – the seat across from Ragnok was clearly for him. As he gaped, he felt Hermione's hand entwining with his, and give a reassuring squeeze.

Unthinking, he stepped forward and pulled her along – he would be damned if he faced this without his best friend at his side.

As he approached 'his' chair, Ragnok spoke in his gravelly voice, "I believe it is time for us to rectify an oversight."

Without a word, a goblin approached and handed a small, ornately carved box to his leader who opened it, revealing a modest, unassuming ring: a simple silvery band, somewhat wide as would befit a masculine hand. It had a flat surface where a stone would be, with a barely legible seal which looked like crossed sticks or wands beneath a crude rendition of a crown.

Ragnok extended the box to Harry, and formally stated, "Harry James Potter, in accordance with treaties signed between our peoples and the Laws of Inheritance of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter, in the presence of the Minister of Magic, Gringotts Bank turns over the titles, inheritances, and properties of the Potter Family."

"Thank you, Clan Chief," Harry whispered. He silently removed the ring from the box (handing over the latter to Hermione for safe-keeping) and held it up. He saw runic writing inscribed around the band; like the seal, it was clearly worn down by age and countless fingers rubbing it as the runes were barely legible. Harry affected peering at the writing intently as he muttered, "One ring to rule them all – OW! Hermione!"

"This is _serious_, Harry!" Hermione hissed – but her impending rant was stopped cold when she heard the stifled giggles and muffled laughter of the others. Turning, she saw Ragnok with a benign smile on his face as he said, "Tolkien had a most facile pen, Lady – Miss Granger – although his unflattering description of the Nation saw him banned from the bank for the rest of his natural life."

"Besides," McGonagall said from her position behind them, "there will always be one or two who will say that when they receive their head of house ring."

Harry poked a tongue at Hermione before turning back to Ragnok and bowed, again thanking the goblin leader. Ragnok watched as Harry placed the ring on his finger and grinned when a golden aura surrounded the young man, confirming the fact that Harry James Potter was indeed Lord Potter, with all the titles, inheritances and responsibilities inherent in the name.

He was about to congratulate the young lord but stopped as he realized that tears were falling from Harry's eyes. A worried Hermione looked ready to launch herself at him when Harry held a hand up to stop her, even as the other was wiping at his eyes. Glancing around apologetically, he whispered, "I'm sorry … I was hoping …"

"Harry?"

He sighed. "It's nothing … I was just hoping that the ring held some … memories or something. I mean … I have no memory at all of my grandfather and was hoping that the ring …" He shook his head, "My apologies, Director … Consort Reena."

"No apologies needed, Lord Potter," Ragnok said softly. "I'm just sorry that the ring is not what you expected or hoped for. The only magical property it has is that of recognizing or confirming the rightful Head of an Ancient and Noble House …" At the curious look the two teens gave him, he continued, "The rings for the Most Ancient Houses have enchantments to prevent unauthorized use by anyone not entitled to wear it. Those same enchantments are used in the rings for the newer families, although many of the latter have additional magic on them." He smiled at their curious looks. "As I understand it, some Head of House rings are charmed to never be removed or hidden unless the Head of House passes on."

He shook his head. "I see it as a case of simple vanity; a means of constantly proclaiming the head's status to the world at large."

This time, Ragnok cast a curious look at the teens who exchanged meaningful looks with each other – but before he could inquire, it was Harry who was standing tall in front of him, saying in a formal tone, "Clan Chief Ragnok, before we proceed, there is a matter that I feel should be settled first."

Ragnok blinked but quickly recovered and nodded for Harry to proceed. Harry turned to Hermione who reached into the bag that they'd carried around for most of a year and started pulling something out. The goblins watched closely, alert for treachery or betrayal – and gasped when Hermione pulled out a canvas-wrapped sword whose handle gleamed with rubies the size of eggs.

With a slight bow to Ragnok, she handed the sword to Harry who removed the canvas, revealing the silver blade with 'Godric Gryffindor' inscribed below the hilt. Turning to the shocked Ragnok (and mindful of the tense stance of Ragnok's guards), Harry stated in a firm voice, "As representative of Hogwarts and a past wielder of the Sword, I return this to the descendants of its makers in the hope that such gesture will remove one of the many contentious issues between our peoples."

The silence in the room was the proverbial 'so thick you can cut with a knife' as Ragnok stared at Harry, who held out the sword to the goblin leader. Ragnok flicked his eyes to McGonagall, then to Shacklebolt and Flitwick who nodded in agreement or resignation.

It had been a controversial issue in the Headmistress' office earlier – although the argument was between the living and the dead. The portraits of Headmasters past were adamant about keeping the Sword of Gryffindor in the castle; Hermione and Harry were just as resolute to return it while the Minister, the Headmistress and her Deputy were unsure.

The argument ended when Harry banished the glass case holding the Sword and turned it over to Hermione for safe keeping.

A sigh escaping Ragnok's lips broke the silence – Ragnok gestured for Harry to place the artefact on the table between them instead of accepting it. As Harry complied, the head of Gringotts sank into his chair with everyone else following.

"Lord Potter …" Ragnok's gravelly voice broke the silence, "while the Nation is appreciative of your gesture … what makes you think that we _want_ the sword back?"

A school of goldfish would not have done a better impersonation of flap-mouthed surprise; not surprisingly, it was Hermione who first found her voice: "Bu-ba-but-huh?"

"I assume that a certain _p'tahk –_" Ragnok said, even as Hermione blinked at the goblin's invective – "told you that it was '_taken_' from my ancestor, Ragnuk the First, by Godric Gryffindor?"

At their nods, he continued, "May I further assume that the pathetic _tahkeck_ said that this was the price of his cooperation to get you into the Lestrange vault?"

Again, Harry and Hermione nodded; the latter's brains near-melting as she wondered how Klingon epithets made it into the Goblin dialect … or was it the other way around? She shook her head as she realized that Ragnok was muttering imprecations under his breath – she was sure that she could pick up a few more Klingon words in there.

"Clan Chief?" Harry's query stopped Ragnok's diatribe and focused the latter back to the room and its occupants. Ragnok sighed and shook his head. "Lord Potter, Goblin history notes that Gryffindor _defeated_ Ragnuk in single combat and claimed the sword, as was his right as a valiant and honourable warrior.

"There are those in the Nation, however, who choose to believe that it was a treacherous Gryffindor who 'stole' the sword from the valiant Ragnuk – and that he who succeeds in bringing the sword back to our ancestral halls will be acclaimed a hero!"

Ragnok's eyes turned flinty as he continued, "Tell me, Lord Potter, what honour is there in displaying a symbol of our defeat? It would be a constant reminder of our loss – _no!_ Far better to hold on to symbols of victory, of celebration, rather than fester in thoughts of what might have been!"

A squeak and a thump broke the tension generated by Ragnok's words; all eyes turned to see a mortified Professor Flitwick climbing back into his chair.

"It would seem, honoured friend," Ragnok's advisor said to him, "that Filius was asleep in that class!"

A loud bark of laughter erupted from Ragnok, only to be interrupted by the melodious voice of his consort: "Oh no, Honourable Ironclaw! Filius and Ragnok decided to sneak out of class for some 'herbal experimentation,' I believe they called it. Apparently, _someone –_" she gave an apple-cheeked Flitwick an evil smirk – "got his hands on some muggle weed called 'ganja' and decided to share it with Ragnok."

The goblins in the room were snickering at their leader's sputtering while the humans – especially McGonagall – were gaping at the totally mortified Flitwick.

"My father, the Headmaster, caught them on the training grounds," Reena continued. "Buck naked and running around, proclaiming they were Pan and a nymph … Pan, of course, trying to do what myth says he always does to nymphs."

She paused before casting a meaningful glance at McGonagall. "I still have the pictures."

It was too much – humans and goblins exploded in laughter, Hermione and Harry clutching each other as they roared, Remus and Ironclaw on the floor holding their stomachs as McGonagall gaped at her old friend and the image evoked of two young men stoned out of their minds and chasing each other around the grounds.

A loud "Hem, Hem!" halted the hilarity and they tried to look serious (although an occasional giggle broke through). Ragnok glared at his consort – who gave him a wide, wide grin to which Ragnok responded with a roll of his eyes and muttered maledictions which the goblins (and Flitwick) knew were along the lines of spoiled brats and Headmaster's daughters.

Standing up, the goblin warrior spoke formally, "The Nation and Clans thank you for the gesture, Lord Potter, but we cannot accept such a gift. It is rightfully yours, won in battle by your honoured ancestor and – as I am made to understand – it has found far more use than it would have, rusting away in whatever mouldy storeroom Gryffindor found for it."

The thought of the Sorting Hat's outrage at being called a 'mouldy storeroom' made Harry grin – almost; jumping to his feet, he bowed to Ragnok and accepted the Sword back before turning it over to Hermione for safekeeping. Turning back to Ragnok, he asked, "Why would Griphook lie about something like this, Clan Chief?"

"Ah," the venerable goblin said with a sigh as he glanced at his consort. "We come close to the heart of the matter."

He sat down heavily in his chair, clearly gathering his thoughts. "How much do you know of the Goblin Nation, Lord Potter?"

**Additional Note:** My deepest thanks to the wonderful people who put together the **Khemorex Klinzhai!** Website for the database on Klingon epithets and vocabulary. I would also like to acknowledge a favourite author, **robst**, who cited Alorkin's review on a story which provided a perfect description of the goblins: "… a combination of Ferengi and Klingon. They have a strict ethical moral code and they stick to it assiduously."


	9. Chapter 9

**Grace Aux Malfoys**

**Standard Disclaimer**: As always, none of the characters you recognize came from me; I just borrowed them from their owner to play around with a bit. They are rightfully the property of Dame JK Rowling, her publishers, the movie companies, and whoever holds the stocks of those companies.

As before, I am extremely grateful to the people behind the **Khemorex Klinzhai! **Website for their extremely enjoyable and very useful Klingon dictionary.

To all who have read, left reviews and marked this for alerts or as favourites, my deepest thanks.

**Chapter 9.**

**Anteroom off the Great Hall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

_Ragnok sat down heavily in his chair, clearly gathering his thoughts. "How much do you know of the Goblin Nation, Lord Potter?"_

Harry blinked; the question was unexpected. His response was hesitant; he may have read a lot during the past year but still – "Not much really, Clan Chief. I … well, never really gave it much thought until recently."

Ragnok nodded. "No doubt your impression of the Nation is that of a single, purposeful entity, attuned to war and bloodshed, chaffing under the 'enlightened' views of the wizards and constantly seeking a way to get away from your control?"

Harry shrugged in reply, his face impassive. Ragnok continued. "The truth is, the Nation is divided. Many clans," his gesture clearly indicating those in the room with him, "have long realized that not all wizards or witches look down on us or treat us with contempt. These witches and wizards are, in the main, half-bloods with ties to the muggle world or First Generation muggle-born … in other words, those who have not been exposed or with limited experience with the inbred bigotry of many 'pureblood' families.

"Over the years, our clans have built successful business relationships and personal friendships with a selected few and their families. Money, after all, has no borders and we would be remiss if we allowed opportunities to slip by without doing our best to gain some of it." He paused and shook his head. "We've had to keep these relationships very discreet, however, for fear they would be harassed, either by wizards who want _no one_ to do business with us beyond what the treaties provide and those in our world who feel the same way.

He paused before continuing thoughtfully, "Of course there are those who resent those alliances, being envious of the wealth that we brought to the Nation and our clans …"

His face darkened. "Those who resent us have found alliance and a willing ear among those who would have nothing to do with you or the muggles. To the minds of the bigoted, inward-looking _baktag_, the Nation has lost its pride, becoming nothing more than clerks and servile _t'gla_, totally unbecoming of the 'glorious history' (he rolled his eyes) of the Goblin Nation. That we were almost wiped out in the wars of attrition with your kind is conveniently forgotten – they choose to remember old wounds, to keep alive past conflicts and slurs, constantly picking at the scabs in an effort to keep old hurts fresh.

"The Sword, for example," he said, nodding at Hermione's bag. "They call it the 'Lost' Sword of the Nation, holding it up as an icon and symbol of all that is wrong in our world: lost through a wizard's treachery, a relic that we 'allow' to remain lost, willing as we are to roll over and present our backsides to the wizards who control our world."

Ironclaw spoke up from his seat beside his leader, "They are a small but vocal group of malcontents, but their numbers were never high, especially as the Nation has grown prosperous and content with its business and financial dealings. Of course," he grimaced, "having those hotheads around virtually guarantees continuing tensions with _your_ world."

Ragnok nodded. "The Nation would have healed were it not for the stupidity and pig-headedness of your leaders. Your government has constantly insulted and disrespected the Nation; this has found fertile ground among those who continue feeding on old wounds." He broke off to stare at Kingsley Shacklebolt, who was seated behind Harry.

"Tell me, Minister Shacklebolt, how would you view a government whose dealings with you are through the Department for the _Regulation_ and _Control_ of Magical _Creatures?_ How would you react to a government who sees you as _beasts_ that need to be 'regulated' rather than sentient beings that _deserve_ respect and friendship?"

There was no reply – there could be no answer. Even Shacklebolt – loyal Ministry worker that he was – had never really thought of it that way. Ragnok had a point – the wizarding world entrusted the goblins with their monies, so why should they be dealt with as 'creatures'?

The reason was simple, of course. Treat them as 'beasts,' think of them as '_creatures_' and it is easier to do anything you want to them – deny them their rights, impose any restrictions, handle them with contempt … they are only creatures, after all.

Shacklebolt shook his head. True, he had never been in a position to make such changes before … But he could now. First thing, he thought, transfer Percy and Goblin Liaison to International Magical Cooperation – the goblins were a 'nation' after all, right? After that … let's see what Percy can come up with.

He shifted his attention back to Ragnok who was talking, "It is the transgressions of those in power which kept the clique opposing us alive – stoking their anger, feeding their hatreds, awaiting an opportunity to vent their frustrations. And then circumstances arose that gave them an opening …"

"Voldemort," Hermione said.

The goblin leader nodded. "Indeed, Lady–Miss Granger. When Voldemort exposed himself in '96, we knew that war would soon be joined, and the Nation would be called to take a stand with one side or the other."

He grimaced. "Not an ideal situation for us. On the one hand, there was that traitorous _p'takh_ that never showed respect and caused the death of several families over the years. On the other was the _qoH_ Fudge and his Ministry _Qovpatlh_ who had never been friends to the Nation.

"But Professor Dumbledore…" Harry stopped at Ragnok's impatient gesture.

"The Clans never considered Dumbledore as friend or potential ally. He's held the highest positions in your government from where he could exert considerable influence and yet he's done _nothing_ to temper the hatreds. Despite representations made for Bagman's arrest and trial under goblin law, he never lifted a finger to assist us."

"But that was during the Tri-Wizard …" Harry stopped as Hermione squeezed his hand and he nodded. They'd discussed this before: Dumbledore was the head of the Wizengamot – so why should he spend more time 'overseeing' the tournament rather than settling a dispute between the Goblin _Nation_ and one lowly wizard – one who had gypped other wizards, including the Twins, Dean's father and others?

And it wasn't as if Bagman was an indispensable part of the Tournament and thus deserving of the protection! Apart from the drawing of the names and the weighing of the wands, he was there only to commentate – and run his betting business on the side!

The two teens shook their heads and turned to Ragnok, who had been watching them with interest. "You see the point, then?" As the two nodded (along with, Ragnok noted, the other humans in the room), he continued, "And consider his approach to the Nation when Voldemort returned … a _private_ initiative through his Order of the Phoenix, not his _official_ position as Chief Warlock – in effect, it is a _personal_ approach with _none_ of the force of law!"

Ragnok slammed his fist on the table, making them jump. "Did he think we were _fools?_ He wanted us on 'his' side but without the backing of the government …what would happen to the Nation if he lost? We would be left hanging when Voldemort took over! Why take his side, why play his _games_ … why fight for his 'ideals' which the government he led never even shared?"

His eyes impaled McGonagall who looked ready to protest, "Please don't speak of how powerless the position of Chief Warlock was, Headmistress … if that were true, why hold on to his positions? Why cling to something with no power or influence, claiming all the while there was 'nothing he could do' while Malfoy and his ilk bribed and threatened to achieve their goals? If Dumbledore needed gold to counter Malfoy and his poisons, the Nation was more than willing to help!

"But no! The great Albus Dumbledore would never stoop so low …if all he wanted was to keep his hands clean, he should have resigned his position and openly take a stand rather than play _games_!"

McGonagall's lips were set in a thin line as she stared at the goblin leader – but bowed her head in defeat. She may have worked with Dumbledore the longest, but admitted that Ragnok had a point. She remembered Harry's horrendous fifth year when Dumbledore did nothing and kept silent, claiming 'his hands were tied' the whole time – but still finding time to play games with 'his' Order and taking action only when forced to by circumstances.

And _that_ did not even include whatever he did to hide Harry's inheritance and position in their world from them!

She shook her head. She, like so many others, had placed their blind faith in Dumbledore only to realize that the "Leader of the Light' had feet of clay and blinders to boot … and never trusted them the way they trusted him.

Ragnok composed himself. "Is it any wonder then that the Nation chose to stay out of your war? Much as we hated Voldemort and his ilk, there was little to admire in either the Ministry or Dumbledore! There was only one option for us: to follow our obligations to the letter and provide no more and no less than the services mandated by treaty."

He paused, his gaze seemingly in the distance as he whispered, "What we didn't realize was that we were going to be faced with a dilemma … one with consequences we could not have foreseen."

It was Reena who spoke next. She had silently walked to stand beside her husband, her hand on his shoulder and the others noticed that Ragnok's fingers were intertwined with hers.

"We seriously underestimated Voldemort's insanity, Lord Potter," she said. "We assumed that by staying neutral, we would be left alone to do what we will," she shook her head in dismay, "Including maintaining our friendships and alliances with families who had access to the muggle world. How were we to know that he would target and go after them – the information provided by traitorous _t'ooho'mIrah_ out of their envy and spite!"

Hermione blurted, "Natalie McDonald?" The consort nodded. Turning to the others, Hermione explained, "Natalie's father is a stockbroker … what better 'contact' in the muggle world would Gringotts need than him?"

Reena smiled. "To say nothing of the fact that young Natalie is also a most engaging person." The teens and the teachers nodded, remembering the vivacious and friendly witch. "It was Curse Breaker Weasley – no doubt acting on information from his father – who alerted us to Voldemort's plans; we had mere _hours_ to act and we did our best…"

"We could not allow them to be taken," said Ironclaw. "They had been of great help and conducted all dealings with honour, respect and profit … we could not stand aside, our honour dictated no less. Fortunately, the Council agreed with us … we ventured into your world and made contact, offering shelter with our families and asylum within the Nation. We were able to save some but others …"

He shook his head; the humans in the room nodded. Hermione, especially, was shivering as she remembered her encounter with the Muggle-Born Registration Committee. She looked up as Ragnok sighed. "It is embarrassing to say this but we realized that we never really did a head count on how many friends and business partners we've made over the years … when we had gathered everyone and did so, we found we had around thirty families … and close to two hundred people that we had granted asylum to.

"It was not a strain to us; our living areas can accommodate far more since they were built at a time when we were more numerous. Neither did their 'residence' with us strain our available resources – again, there was more than enough for everyone, our friends included."

He snorted. "This, however, provided the other faction with another cause. They began harping that we had allowed '_human filth_' into the nation, giving them shelter, consuming our food and drink … in other words, they had another opportunity to inflame old passions and hatreds and trying to provoke them into open conflict.

"Fortunately, our friends refused to take the bait and did what they could to be useful and not be a burden to the Nation. On the other hand, the inflammatory rhetoric emboldened some _idiots _who did not – or could not – distinguish between those who were our friends and the _Qa'Hom_ who were infesting the bank …"

"Griphook and Gornuk," Harry murmured.

Ragnok shook his head. "Gornuk was a simple hothead whose mouth was bigger than his brain and made a run for it when he finally insulted the wrong _toDSaH._ He was lucky to have fallen in with Dirk Cresswell and Ted Tonks; they helped him escape when they got ambushed. One of our rescue teams was in the area and recognized Dirk – we were moving to rescue him but had been taken already and then escaped; the rescue brought them in and we granted asylum to them."

Shacklebolt and Remus nodded; that would explain why Ted and Dirk were believed dead and why they didn't get the word out. Better safe than have Voldemort learn of the goblin's assistance, Shacklebolt thought; Remus, on the other hand, felt that his mother-in-law would eventually forgive Ted … in about a hundred years or so.

"Griphook, on the other hand …" Ragnok shook his head. "He was a leading light amongst that clique, having inherited his hatreds and resentments from his ancestors. He was most vocal against the 'human filth,' didn't like our alliances with the muggle-born, and was the most aggressive in baiting Voldemort's minions. We thought it best when he fled after insulting the wrong _toDSaH_. Let him play his games outside while we kept the Nation safe … but he fell in with you."

"And we had the Sword," Hermione murmured.

Ragnok nodded. "Griphook saw an opportunity to retrieve it for his faction and use it as a rallying point for their long-planned assault on those they disagreed with."

Ragnok's face, eyes and voice turned icy-cold. "The 'return' of the sword was what they'd been waiting for, it was a sign from the gods that their side was 'right' and they would win."

"It didn't help that it happened after your … 'adventure'," Ironclaw added, "which diverted our attention. The miserable _taHqeq_ and his people attacked the following day – striking at the Council in their offices while the jackals fell on the families in their homes and other places ..."

"The day after?" Harry interrupted him. "Oh Merlin," he breathed, "we were at Hogwarts … Voldemort attacked…"

"While we were fighting for our lives down below," Ragnok nodded. "Their attack was swift and brutal and caught us unawares. If it were not for your friends who all say that you had taught them magical defence …"

"Young Natalie was babysitting my youngest while I was out," Reena interrupted her consort. "They thought they would be unopposed but what they found was a young witch who fought like a lioness, stunning three of them before the fight turned lethal …" A pained expression crossed her face. "Natalie found herself in a kill or be killed situation but she still fought back. I am so, so sorry that it had to happen to one so young but Natalie was able to save my child, and for that I am forever in her debt."

"A group of the _maghwl_ attacked the hospital," a grim Ironclaw growled, "headed for the maternity wing where my youngest daughter was in labour …Ted Tonks and Dirk Creswell were there for an examination and stopped them in time. Ted was wounded; Dirk was killed before help arrived."

He stood and met Remus Lupin's eyes. "My family owes the Tonks the life of my grandson. For that I am grateful beyond measure and extend my family's friendship to yours."

A flustered Remus was on his feet and bowing in acceptance, even as Ragnok stood, "Others here have much the same tale to tell; if we allow them all to do so, we will be here for hours yet. Suffice it to say that the Nation owes Natalie and the others a debt, Lord Potter, and by extension, we owe _you_ the same. The training you provided gave them the means to help us; at the very least, they were able to hold off the enemy, protecting both their families and ours until help arrived and for that the Nation will be ever grateful to them and to you."

Harry nodded, torn between pride in his friends and sickened that Natalie had been exposed to war and its horrors at such a young age. He felt Hermione squeezing his hand and he squeezed back, reassured. At the very least, he thought, Natalie was alive … he looked up at a snicker from Ragnok.

"There is one thing," the goblin leader said. "We saw the _Quovpatlh _Griphook was waving the Sword, running around like some great warrior-general when the sword in his hand suddenly disappeared. He continued waving his hand, urging his followers to attack while everyone looked at him as if he'd gone mad …" The grin turned feral. "The look on his face when he realized he no longer had a sword was priceless … I was able to approach and punched him, knocking him out and ending the battle."

He looked at Harry and the others, "May I ask what happened to the Sword?"

McGonagall's brogue responded, "Neville Longbottom, one of my students, had need of the sword … he faced Voldemort with the Sorting Hat and, at the right time, reached into the hat and pulled it out … He was not sure if it would work but …"

She shrugged, to the snickers of the goblins. Ironclaw spoke up, "Perfect timing, in any case. It left Griphook looking like an idiot, gaping at his empty hands and his clique looking like fools … a perfect ending for a bad day."

The sombre mood in the room was broken by Shacklebolt's discreet cough. "Forgive my rudeness, Clan Chief, and thank you for the assistance you have extended to our friends. But I must ask … what has all this got to do with Lord Potter?"

The goblin chieftain blinked, his mind called back from his musings. He stared vacantly at Harry for a long moment before giving a deep sigh.

"Griphook and his band of traitorous _t'ooho'mIrah_ could not have done the damage they did without logistics and financial support. They'd been plotting for years but have never progressed because they simply didn't have the resources for it. They needed resources, galleons to finance their clique, stockpile weapons and potions, establish safe houses for meetings …" Ragnok glanced to one side, and a goblin silently placed an ornate box similar to the one that held the Potter Ring before Ragnok. The latter opened it to reveal a similar ring to the one that now adorned Harry's hand.

"On 02 July 1995, Sirius Orion Black named Harry James Potter as Heir-Apparent of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black, as witnessed by the Black Account Manager Tailhook and Assistant Account Manager Griphook. The notice was filed with the bank the same day. You were then adopted as his son via blood ritual on 25 December 1995; the information being filed with us, along with his last will and testament, on 13 January 1996."

"WHAT?" Harry's surprise was echoed by the adults; Hermione's eyes, however, narrowed into slits as her brain processed the information, coming to conclusions that roiled her stomach.

Ragnok's gravelly voice took on a strange, echoing timbre which was the only hint of a tightly leashed anger. "Griphook _claims_ that he informed your magical guardian, Albus Dumbledore, of the terms and provisions of Lord Black's will on 08 July 1996. Dumbledore wanted the will kept silent, claiming that you already had too much on your plate … and offered Griphook access to the Black Vaults as well as to use a forged will…"

"That pathetic Q_u'vatlh!"_ Flitwick fell from his chair at the vile Goblin curse – they were all gaping at the young witch who was standing, eyes blazing and hair seemingly floating in an unseen wind, fists clenching as she said, in a sibilant whisper redolent of danger and destruction, "The old _k'pekt_ had NO FUCKING RIGHT TO DO THAT!"

The room rumbled in apparent agreement, causing the goblins to look around uneasily but the angry witch was not yet done: "That miserable, stinking, traitorous, ungrateful, uncouth son of a _forshak! _We could have used Grimmauld as a base rather than wander the friggin' _countryside _for an effing _year _… cast a new Fidelius with you or Remus as Secret Keeper … used the library to research … found the fucking _locket_ before Fletcher stole it … we could have done so much more if the pathetic _k'pekt _pulled his head out of his arse and stopped playing his _games! Qu'vatlh guy'cha b'aka!!"_

To say that the goblins were impressed is putting it very, very mildly: Ironclaw was on the floor gaping as Hermione let loose.

The waves of magic grew intense; shocked at the waves of magic buffeting him, Harry took the only path open to him – he grabbed Hermione and placed a resounding kiss on her lips – '_To Hell with it!_' he thought, he deepened the kiss into a tongue-tying, teeth-cleaning, tonsil-seeking snog which held with it all the frustration, confusion and pent-up emotions that had built up in him throughout the long day.

Hermione's anger dissipated as she melted into the kiss, her raging emotions seeping away as her hands found their way to Harry's hair and the air she'd drawn in for her rant found its path out blocked by Harry's tongue.

The room's occupants covered their eyes as a brilliant gold nimbus surrounded the snogging couple. While the humans knew that they were soul-bonded, this was their first real experience of the phenomenon and they were awed.

"_Maw'tok!_" Ironclaw exclaimed. "They have a soul bond?"

"They do," Reena said quietly. "I could see the aura when we met them … although I have never in my life seen one as powerful. Even at rest, and the soul bond not fully mature, I was getting a headache watching them!"

"Is that why you kept stumbling over Miss Granger's name, Clan Chief?" Flitwick asked. The other humans turned to the goblin leader, who gave a wry smile and nodded.

"Yes, I could see the same thing that Reena did; luckily not at the same intensity with which she sees auras … but you know the law and protocols on that! I cannot address the Lady Potter as such until they are truly bound in law … while magic may acknowledge the bond, it has no legal meaning or force."

The humans nodded; goblins were sticklers for protocol and procedure – they had to, in order to retain their tenuous hold in a hostile world where every small infraction could be used against them. That it also provided them with a means to subtly insult and demean those who they considered uncultured snobs was left unsaid.

They didn't hear him murmur in a sibilant whisper that had his consort and Ironclaw nodding: "At least it will make things easier."

Soon enough, the light show ended as lungs desperate for air pushed the lip-locking teens apart. For a long moment they stood there, forehead to forehead, eyes closed but arms around each other – it took the others a few moments to realize that the two were blushing badly, embarrassed beyond all measure by the public display of affection in front of their teachers and other dignitaries.

Realizing this, Reena took matters into her hands, saying, "You curse well, Miss Granger. You must have Goblin blood in you!"

Hermione's muffled voice came from Harry's chest where she had burrowed her face: "Oh no, Consort Reena … just a morbid fascination with Star Trek: The Next Generation."

Her comment set off a roar of laughter from the goblins and Flitwick – compounded even more by the confused faces of Percy and Shacklebolt. Harry's eyebrows were raised as he glanced at Hermione, who gave him a look that promised explanations later and both teens turned back to Ragnok, who had finally settled in his seat, a grim expression on his face.

Without a word, the two teens resumed their seats even as the others did the same, all of them assuming serious expressions in deference to the goblin leader. Ragnok visibly centred himself before speaking, "There isn't much more to tell. Griphook's minions support his claim that an 'arrangement' was made with Dumbledore, allowing the miserable _p'tak_ to abstract galleons from the Black vault. Dumbledore thought he was catering to goblin greed, Griphook found it funny that he'd pulled the wool over the 'greatest wizard in the world'."

He paused. "We have seized the personal vaults and properties of all those involved in this attempted rebellion against the Council; we will be transferring these to the Black vaults as replacement for what was taken, as well as a penalty for the transgressions and the inconvenience to you, Lord Potter."

It took Harry a minute or more to comprehend Ragnok's words; his mind was too busy parsing through the information about Dumbledore, Griphook and Sirius' inheritance to register. He had to agree with Hermione – Dumbledore's games had denied them valuable resources for the war: Grimmauld and other Black (to say nothing of Potter) properties as secure bases for training, operations and as refuge, the Black library for research … His mind flashed to Dumbledore visiting him at Privet Drive that summer after losing Sirius, his hand shrivelled and black after putting on Slytherin's ring … could that have affected that once brilliant mind? It was possible … he remembered his sixth year as a confusing time, more of what Dumbledore claimed as an effort to give him the carefree days that he'd missed growing up with the Dursleys – but shouldn't he have used the time for training?

His thoughts were cut off as Hermione's fingers dug into his hand; shaking his head he focused back on Ragnok who was saying something about compensation for Griphook using the Black fortunes for his own end … he cut the goblin off.

"Director Ragnok, would it be possible to use the money you intend to return to the Black vaults as compensation for the … err, 'insult' we visited on the Nation for our robbery of the Lestrange vault? I am aware that apologies are not enough but would rather have the monies used for a better cause than just being returned to me. At the same time – and I hope that this is not taken as presumption on my part – I would like a portion of whatever monies are due me to be used to provide assistance and recompense for the goblins whose lives were affected by Griphook's … _misuse _ofthe Black Trust."

The goblin leader blinked. It was one of the items that he wished to discuss with the young Lord but had been unsure as to how to bring it up. That Lord Potter brought it up without prompting raised his esteem for the young man higher; he decided then and there that those matters could be discussed later … right now, there was something else he would have to burden the young man with.

He glanced at the young woman beside the young Lord and grinned to himself; watching their interaction had been just like watching his in-laws: the same level of deeply held affection and concern, the palpable need to be constantly in touch … that the two in front of him were soul-bonded would be helpful …

He shook himself and responded to Harry's offer formally. "The Nation thanks you for the gesture of cooperation and trust, Lord Potter. If I may, I would like to schedule a separate meeting to go over finances and inheritances in greater detail …" He paused as the young Lord glanced at his consort before nodding acceptance; the goblin leader took a deep breath before bracing himself.

"There is one other thing we need to settle."

Harry tensed and Hermione bit her lip in fear of what other anvil was heading for Harry's head, and gripped his hand tightly as Ragnok intoned, "You have twenty-four hours to find a mate and marry, Lord Potter, unless you want Draco Lucius Black Malfoy to inherit the estate as the next Lord Black."

For a long moment, Harry stared at the goblin leader before giving a single-word response: "Huh?"

***

**The Hospital Wing, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

Ronald Weasley blinked and sat up, his senses screaming danger even as he scrabbled around for his wand, relaxing as an ethereal voice floated into his consciousness: "Hello, Ronald."

He collapsed back into his bed; he'd seen his wand on the bedside table and swiped it, quickly hiding it under his blankets. He glanced around, realizing that his bed had been partitioned off before turning to Luna Lovegood who was looking at him with her usual dreamy expression.

"No need for that, Ronald," Luna said. "We're the only ones here; the others have been released or sent on to St. Mungo's. Madame Pomfrey's in the Great Hall – she needed a break, poor dear, so Bill, who was here earlier, set up some wards to tell her if she's needed here."

"Luna …"

"Oh, you can reach for the glass of water, Ronald. You're not seriously hurt … escaping Hermione and apparating to your mum shouldn't have drained your magic – it's less difficult than your other adventures with Harry and Hermione."

"Luna …"

"Or maybe it is," Luna said thoughtfully. "Oh! Poppy said to make sure you drank the potion there, otherwise you'd be having a terrible, terrible headache, so chug it down, Ronald!"

There was more than a grain of truth to what Luna said – Ron couldn't be sure if the pounding between his ears was due to Luna's prattling or the headache Madam Pomfrey was warning about. With a wince and a resigned air, Ron sat up (Luna placing pillows at his back) as he grabbed the vial of a sickly yellow potion.

Nodding gratefully, he pinched his nose and tossed the potion down, letting go a sigh as the pounding eased. He cocked an eye at the young witch who was, once again, staring at him intently with her slightly protuberant blue eyes.

It didn't take him long to start twitching under that steady gaze. "What are you doing here, Luna? I mean, I appreciate it and all ..."

The blonde witch blinked as if her mind had been elsewhere, her staring at Ron notwithstanding. She visibly gathered herself before answering: "I'll be leaving after the feast tonight, Ronald. The Aurors found my poor father in Azkaban and brought him to St. Mungo's so I'll be staying there for a bit."

"_Poor_ father? Traitorous bastard," he mumbled (and missing Luna's wince at his words) and then visibly brightened at a word he recognized, "Feast? There's a feast …"

"I suggest you stay here, Ronald." He started to protest but stopped at her gesture. "After what happened this morning, I somehow doubt that Hermione'll be in the mood to see you tonight ... if ever. A house elf will bring you dinner later."

"What are you talking about," Ron said, defensively.

"Your 'wedding'?" He gaped at Luna as she continued, "Really, Ronald. You all but announced in the Great Hall that the 'wedding' the Prophet reported was a sham. True, only your family and some professors were there but you know how the walls have ears: human, ghost and Extendible ..."

He slumped against the pillows, face red from embarrassment as the memories flooded his mind: an enraged Hermione stalking him, death in her eyes; escaping her only to land naked as the day he was born in the Great Hall, which triggered a major wand battle; cringing at Fleur's dulcet tones proclaiming, "he ees a _leetle_ boy…;" trying to hex the Twins who he _knew_ had pranked him and …

Nothing.

Try as he might, he couldn't remember anything from that point … Luna watched him closely; Poppy had warned them that Ronald may suffer some memory loss. Ginny's stunner was overpowered from her emotional turmoil … that and no one had realized that he'd slammed his head on the table, _hard_, when he'd 'slumped' when Ginny's stunner hit him. His next words would tell the tale of what he _did_ remember …

"What are you doing here, Luna?" he asked tiredly. He couldn't remember anything from that point on and so, just decided to go with the flow. He was disoriented and disconcerted from Luna's steady gaze; Luna could pick up nothing but straightforward confusion from him and knew that he truly did not remember anything.

And _that_ gave her the chance to clarify some things before she left the school. "I wanted to ask you something before I left, Ronald … I need to know something before I take up my life and move on and grow up …"

"Oh?" He stared out the window, mourning about the feast and the missed opportunity to stand tall and proud, basking in the adulation of the wizarding population –

"Were you using love potions on Hermione Granger?"

He spun around so fast that he heard his spine crack, felt the blood rushing into his face as he stared at her bug-eyed for a second before roaring, "ARE YOU NUTS?! WHY SHOULD I USE A LOVE POTION ON THAT BUSHY-HAIRED, KNOW-IT-ALL _MANIAC? _I WOULDBE DRAWN AND QUARTERED IF SHEEVER FINDS OUT I TRIED SOMETHING LIKE THAT!"

He huffed to himself as he slumped against his pillows, "I may be dumb, Luna, but I'm not _stupid_!"

He didn't see the wisp of a smile on Luna's lips as the blonde glanced to one side in triumph, only for Luna's neck bones to nearly snap as she spun around at his whispered words: "Lavender, on the other hand …"

"_WHAT DID YOU SAY?!?_"

Ron gasped – did he just say what he thought he said? One look at Luna's steely, steady eyes was all the answer he needed. He gulped, trying to moisten his throat but before he could utter a word, Luna's harsh voice shattered the air: "The _truth_, Ronald!"

They locked eyes for a moment before he shrugged and turned away, staring out the window, as he said in a voice barely above a whisper, "I didn't want to … Merlin knows I didn't want to … but what was I to do?

"Everyone had someone – Harry had Cho; Hermione had Krum; Ginny was with Dean, and had Michael Corner and Neville before that … Seamus was boasting about some girl or other every week … Merlin's balls! Even Neville was spending time with Hannah Abbot!

"And Ron? Poor, pathetic Ron with the emotional range of a teaspoon? Who did _he_ have? Who would even chance a _look_ at poor Ron? You don't know what it's like, Loony … every one looking at you and laughing behind your back, people knowing who you are only because you're Harry Potter's best friend!"

He didn't see Luna rolling her eyes at his rant – she, _Loony Lovegood_, not knowing what it was like? At least he had _friends_, the daft idiot – and bit her lip to stop herself launching into her own tirade.

She'd had enough of self-pity, she reminded herself – enough of pondering the 'what ifs' in her life. What if Ronald noticed her rather than focusing on his friendship with Harry … what if she'd tried to get closer to Harry or Neville after the DOM rather than falling back into her 'loony' persona …

"Dad had some potions in his shed," Ron rambled on. "Things that he'd captured in some raid or other … he showed them to me that summer after we went to the DOM … telling me what they were and what they were for … How was he to know that Slughorn would be teaching us about Amortentia last year?

"Mum used them on him, he said." Luna gasped but Ron continued, oblivious. "Not that he minded too much; she admitted it, soon after they started dating … told him that she knew he was too shy to make a move so she did … I was shocked but he said no harm done – Mum was right, after all he'd never have had the courage to make the first move … funny thing that – he was in Gryffindor but he always said Mum had courage enough for the both of them …"

"And you thought you could do the same thing to Lavender?"

"Why not?" He spat at her, as he turned to meet her eyes. "It was all in fun … nothing serious about it … how else was I going to get a chance at a snog with someone? Lav didn't mind ..."

"Are you saying Lavender _knew_?"

Ron smirked. "She knew … I told her about it. She didn't have any problems with it."

He shrugged as she gaped at him. "Turns out she had some … _feelings_ for me but didn't know how to let me know, clueless git that I was. So it was all to the good … we had fun, snogged quite a bit …"

"Why did you break up with her, then?"

"I didn't want her, all right?_ She_ had feelings for me … I never did! I wanted someone else …"

"Hermione."

"Are ye daft, woman?" Luna blinked at the raw anger that Ron displayed. "Who would want to have that bossy, bushy-haired, muggle-born _bookworm_?" The words rocked Luna back in her seat and she stared at Ron as if she'd finally come face to face with a Crumple-Horned Snorkack. "Besides, have you _seen_ her outside her robes? All straight lines, no curves to hold on to ... now, Bones – despite her name – is _all_ woman..."

Luna heard someone gasp but stopped herself from turning, focused as she was on a Ronald Bilius Weasley that she had never seen or heard before, lost in his verbal painting of Susan Bones' "womanly" charms …

She cut him off. "So why didn't you, Ronald?" At his confused look, she clarified, "Make a move on Susan? You knew what you wanted; you'd already broken up with Lavender..."

"Vane," Ron spat. "The stupid bint! She ruined everything! If she hadn't given Harry those cakes ... if I hadn't been laid up in here for _weeks_ ... things would have worked out." He let out an angry breath. "I was planning to break up with Lav anyway but after that and drinking Slughorn's poisoned mead? There was no chance to do _anything_ right!"

Luna moved away from the ranting redhead – shaking her head as his aborted plans unfolded like a well-planned, calculated chess game. He'd noticed that his sister was close friends with the buxom Hufflepuff and planned to ask Ginny to introduce them; he'd use their almost similar experiences in disastrous Apparitions to ask Susan to 'tutor' him; eventually, he'd use this as an excuse to break up with Lavender so that he could 'concentrate' full time on Susan ... but Vane's abortive dosing of Harry had thrown his plans into a loop.

He decided to bide his time – it wasn't as if there would be no chance or opportunity in the coming year ... and then Dumbledore was killed, Harry told them about his 'mission' and he promised to join the quest, figuring that this would take only a bit of time and he'd come back a hero ...

Again Luna cut him off, wondering as she did what was in the potion that he'd drunk that made him this chatty – did leaving the headache potion for too long turn it into Veritaserum? It was apparent that Ron didn't know Susan used a love potion earlier else he'd be over the moon ... "And Hermione?"

"Huh?" At his confused expression, she explained, "Hermione, Ronald? Despite what you said when you arrived at the Great Hall this morning, the Prophet's announced you're married to her?"

"Oh that?" Ron waved a negligent hand. "Don't know, don't really care ... someone probably pranked us. It'll get sorted out ... too bad, though, I thought we were going to get it on first before she went mental ... we'll be shot of each other sooner or later, anyway. But not after I've gotten a taste of her ..."

It was Luna's turn to wonder where _her_ mental train had gone off to as Ron continued his reverie about what he and Hermione could have done when he woke up that morning. She shook her head; right now, she needed to get the moron on track before she threw up ...

"RON!" He blinked and stared at her. "Prank or not, there's no divorce in the wizarding world, so how are you and Hermione going to be 'shot' of each other?"

For the longest moment, Ron stared at her as if _she_ was the Snorckack – and Luna blinked when he started roaring with laughter.

She wasn't impressed. Ron never needed much of an excuse to laugh at her unlike Harry or even Hermione; the latter at least never laughed _at_ her, only rolled her eyes in exasperation when she went into her spaced-out mode but –

"Oh Luna, don't tell me _you_ of all people believe what the _Prophet_ prints?" Before she could reply, Ron continued, "Did the Prophet show a copy of the contract?" She shook her head. "So it could be some people polyjuiced to look like Hermy and I, right?" Luna shrugged. "I sure as hell don't remember any wedding. And anyway, even if whoever pranked us went all the way and filed a marriage contract with the Ministry … it's all to the good!"

Her expression must be priceless, she thought, for Ron started snickering again, so she cocked a pale eyebrow at him as she glared. A final giggle and Ron started talking, "Come on, Loony! Get with the program! Hermione and I aren't meant for each other ... we don't _think_ the same way, we don't _like_ the same things, there's nothing_ much _we can talk about aside from Harry bloody Potter!You want a disaster? Put Hermy and I together in a room! There's nothing between us … sex, _maybe_ – but how long do you think the silly bint can put out for that?"

Luna kept quiet, surprised that Ron had seen the same thing that she and many others had – if there were two people who were totally not meant to be together, it was Ron and Hermione. For that relationship to work, one or the other would have to be Obliviated and implanted with a different personality ... probably Ron, she thought, much less to change. Unless the Divine Writer who'd placed Nargles in mistletoe to confuse people wrote it that way ... She shook her head and focused on Ron, who continued talking.

"Tell Hermione that we're married and she'll take a runner for the muggle world … and _I'll be free!_ Free of Hermione and her nagging, free of Harry and his fame – I'll be left here _alone_, the last of the Golden Trio, the last of those who'd defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!" His grin was maniacal and Luna unconsciously fingered her wand even as her mind pondered where this was coming from. Probably a bad batch of potions, she thought, but wait, – "What does _Harry_ have to do with this?"

The stare that Ron gave her was so incredulous that she wondered if a Blibbering Humdinger was perched on her head, followed by a look of sheer pity and a voice that sounded so much like older brother talking to imbecilic sibling that she almost pulled her wand on the prat: "D'you think Harry will just let her go? The moment she takes a runner, Harry will be chasing after her … come to think, I'm surprised they're both still here. I was half-expecting that she'd be on her way to Australia by now to get her parents … and Harry will be with her, of course."

He grinned, viciously. "And when they do … they won't be back."

"Harry won't do that …"

Ron cut her off with a snort. "Oh please, Loony! Even I'm not that thick! Harry _hates_ his fame ... he's told me that often enough! D'you really think he'd stick around as our world's pinup boy, worshipped one day and treated like a prat the next? You can see it on his face … the longer he stays here, the more he looks like he's gonna run … all that he's waiting for is Hermione leaving which will give him an excuse to join her … and leave."

"Hermione won't let him …"

"She's loyal to _Harry_," the redhead spat. "She's never shown that kind of loyalty to _me_ or the school or even to Gryffindor!" Luna blinked at the _non sequitur_. "She's only in the stands because of _Harry_ – she's never there to cheer _me_ on, she doesn't give a _hoot _about Quidditch unless _Harry_'s playing ... Between the wizarding world and Harry, who d'you think she'll choose?"

He huffed abruptly, trying to calm down. "Whatever! He'll be gone ... Miss Bushy Head will be with him like always ... he'll convince her to stay in _their_ world and I'll be left here alone, the last of the Golden Trio, Defender of Hogwarts, Destroyer of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named … I'll have a chance at Bones or Abbot or the Patils … I'll be the _hero …_"

It was taking everything Luna had to keep from grabbing another headache potion – only the fear of another bad batch stayed her hand. She stared at Ron who had a euphoric look on his face, no doubt thinking of naked witches and willing wenches surrounding the Hero of Hogwarts …. She shook her head, unable to believe that the person she'd known since childhood could have hidden this side of him for so long.

But then why should she be surprised? Behind his terrible manners, his laid back manner and lack of ambition, his fits of jealous rage, lurked a keen mind – something all too often overlooked because of his association with the Boy-Who-Lived. 'He should have been Slytherin,' she thought, and wondered how the Hat had got it wrong, all those years ago.

She shook herself, realizing that her stomach was aching slightly which meant that it would be dinner time soon. 'Perhaps there'll be pudding,' she thought to herself. She needed pudding right now ... it was her comfort food, something her mother made for her every time she was upset or in one of her moods.

'Maybe I can get some from the kitchens.' With that thought, she stood up and turned around, fully intent on leaving Ron to his foggy daydreams, only to fall back as if she'd slammed into an invisible wall. Ron blinked – and paled when the air shimmered as Disillusion Spells were removed, revealing Susan Bones with Ginny beside her, arms around each other and murderous glares focused on him. Ron's mouth dropped open as his mother shimmered into view, face as red as a Howler and mouth working at a furious rate although no words could be heard.

He understood why in the next second as his older brothers dropped their Disillusionment and Bill pointed his wand at their mother, apparently preparing to remove the Silencing Charm he'd cast at the living Howler. Ron turned to Luna, betrayal clearly on his face as he glared at the young blond.

Luna smiled sweetly and said "I lied," before turning and skipping out the room just as "RONALD BILIUS WEASLEY!" rattled the walls. She hoped that Bill remembered to cancel the alarm wards and replace them with silencing wards; poor Poppy needed a break and rushing back to the Hospital Wing to restore shattered eardrums was not, by any stretch of the imagination, 'taking a break'.

She made a mental note to ask the elves to send the Weasleys and Susan some pudding later.

***

**Additional Author's Notes.** Another cliffy, I know … but again, the story was running away from me (at almost 16,000 words) and I was getting bored reading it myself! So I decided to split the chapter once again but am getting more confident that I will have the next chapter out soon, hopefully by tomorrow.

Stay tuned!


	10. Chapter 10

**Grace Aux Malfoys **

**DISCLAIMER: **As usual, not mine, never has been and – the way I write – will never be.

**AUTHOR'S NOTES**: I am dedicating this chapter to a lovely and wonderful author, **FLETCHER DELANCEY**, for reasons which will be explained in the notes at the end of this chapter.

**Chapter 10.**

**The Great Hall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

It was a celebration to rival the ones that had exploded across Britain nearly two decades before when it was announced that baby Potter had defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. For the students of Hogwarts, it was a feast that outdid everything they'd experienced in the castle before. Not just the food but the presence of _liquor_ (butterbeer, fire whiskey, elf-wines, goblin ale were flowing freely), a seating arrangement like the Yule Ball (round tables rather than the long House tables, with a central aisle leading to the 'head table' at the end), House banners and goblin clan crests hanging from the ceiling, the lights from hundreds of candles, the ghosts of Hogwarts engaging in various antics including formation flying …

At a table near the aisle, the Tonks family sat with Remus, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood and several bandaged and banged-up Gryffindors, all having a good time watching Ted play with his grandson Teddy who, having an audience, delighted in constantly changing his hair colour, to the quiet dismay of his grandmother.

At another table a large group of redheads and others gathered – seven redheads aside from a blonde (Fleur), three dark-haired young women (Katie, Angelina and Alicia) and a dreadlocked, mummified young man (Lee Jordan). To those who knew them, it was easy to identify the Weasley Family – although a second look would be needed to realize that the redheads were missing three of their number (Ron, Arthur and Molly) although they had an additional one (Susan Bones) sitting with them.

Several tables held a mixed bag of humans and goblins, although they were as raucous as the rest and seemingly not at all affected by the prospect of sharing a table with virtual strangers. These tables were not shared by strangers – these held the wizards and witches who'd found haven in the Goblin Nation and they were now happily sharing a meal with their goblin friends.

The noise level was high as conversations and laughter flowed; beneath this, however, a palpable tension existed. They had barely sat down for the feast when phoenix song erupted in the hall and they all watched as the blue and white phoenix from earlier appeared, only to disappear with a flash seconds later, bringing with it the Headmistress and Hermione Granger.

Proving again that the only thing faster than a phoenix is rumour – or even rumour masquerading as fact – the word had spread: the Australian Minister of Magic was arriving, and bringing Hermione's parents with her. And _that_ had led to a further spate of speculation as everyone realized that Hermione Granger – who the Prophet declared that morning as having married or eloped with Ron Weasley – was holding hands with _Harry Potter_ when the Minister's party entered the Hall.

This led to the realization that Ron was missing and supposedly in the Hospital Wing along with Arthur and Molly.

Combine the above, toss in a healthy dose of guesswork – both reasoned and alcohol-induced – and everyone knew something was going to happen. What it was, very few knew; whether it was good or bad, no one could tell … that it will be entertaining, well _that_ was a given …

Every once in a while, eyes shifted to the head table where they could see Minister of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt, Deputy Headmaster Filius Flitwick, two goblins that had been identified as Director Ragnok of Gringotts and his consort Reena, and the man of the hour, Harry James Potter. They could see that he was nervous, fidgeting more than usual, and he looked more than ready to hurl or to bolt – maybe even both at the same time.

The others at the table were silent, seemingly sympathetic to the young man's plight, or at least that was what they could infer from the occasional glances cast at the young man. That something was wrong was obvious; what it was became the subject of still more conjecture.

_If they only knew_, Remus thought as he kept a strong grip on his emotions – torn as he was between anger at a certain white-haired, long-bearded, manipulative old meddler and amusement at Sirius' father for pulling a prank that would have done Phineas Nigeullus proud – but with consequences that would have Orion and Walburga and their bigoted ancestors spinning in their pureblooded, _Toujour Pur_ graves.

He had to shake his head at the elder Black who'd come up with a twisted idea that only a Slytherin could dream of. All to get around the ancestral laws of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black which had _primus genitor_ and the continuity of the line at its core, and ensure that Sirius – who reverted to Heir-Apparent of House Black with the death of Regulus in '79 – would never become Lord Black.

Orion, the then-Lord Black, imposed a new codicil on the Laws of Inheritance: that the incoming Lord Black (Sirius, as he expected) should be either (a) married at the time he took the mantle, (b) name an Heir (who must be a descendant of the Black Family), or (c)_ should_ be married within 24 hours of being informed of his inheritance by the goblins – otherwise, the mantle of Lord Black would pass on to the next in line. In the event there was no one, the Black Trust would be sequestered until a new Lord Black emerged.

To ensure that he did not just marry some tart off the street, the old _veQ_ (Remus had picked up some words from Filius) stipulated that the marriage (in the 24-hour option) must be public and use a Druidic bonding ceremony that wouldn't work unless the couple were truly committed to each other – unless there was a betrothal contract already in place which only need to be consummated within the time frame.

Remus shook his head. The codicil was devious and cruel – and Sirius wouldn't have been able to comply with it at the time. When Orion died later that year, Walburga Black was still in residence at the manor; since Sirius had vowed he would never return while either of his parents were still alive, he wasn't able to comply with the residency codicil of the will.

On the other hand, Remus reflected, the way the codicil was structured left a glaring loophole that he suspected old Orion had completely overlooked: Sirius could have named James Charlus Potter as his Heir-Apparent, since James was Dorea Black-Potter's son which made him, technically, Sirius' uncle.

And _that_ was the reason why Sirius was able to get around Orion's codicil in '95 when he was finally able to claim the title and property of the Black Family: he named Harry (who was technically his second cousin) as Heir-Apparent the moment he was informed of it.

Which made Harry also a second cousin to Andromeda and Narcissa – Remus snickered. Tonks would have a field day when it came out; he could just see her calling Harry 'Unca Harry' and teaching little Teddy to call Harry 'Gramps'!

The problem was that Sirius, for whatever reason, forgot to rescind the codicil before he died … and _that_ left Harry in a major bind. Refuse it and House Black and its considerable fortune would go to Draco. That the ponce could meet the requirement was a given – he had an existing betrothal with the Parkinsons that they knew about … he would have the simpering pug Pansy before a binder within minutes, which meant Lucius would be back in power, slithering his way through their world and spreading his poisons once again.

He ran a hand through his hair in frustration; he understood Harry's aggravation at the situation. The problem was that they had no other viable option. Harry's first thought was to name Teddy as his Heir-Apparent but that got shot down by both Ragnok and Shacklebolt who pointed out that, at the moment, Teddy couldn't be named an Heir to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black because he was _technically_ a werewolf.

Harry growled at that – he had become quite attached to his godson the past few days – only for Remus' own growl shutting him up and making him listen. The fact was, as Kingsley pointed out, the anti-werewolf laws were still on the books and it would take time to get them removed. Given the timeline imposed by Orion Black, there was no way this could be done.

His suggestion of Harry adopting Teddy using the same blood adoption ritual that Sirius used was shot down by Ragnok – apparently, Orion had thought of that dodge and stipulated against it. Harry didn't need the blood adoption to become Heir-Apparent; Sirius had apparently done it just so he could legally lay claim as Harry's guardian that summer, Dumbledore's insistence on Harry returning to Privet Drive be damned … and, Remus knew, Sirius wanted to have that emotional and 'spiritual' connection with Harry as his 'son' in law and in blood.

Remus smiled wistfully, thinking of Harry's reason why he didn't want to 'jump' into marriage with Hermione, even if it was the easy thing to do: he and Hermione hadn't gone through the expected 'rituals' leading to such: dates, holding hands, checking out the broom closets, asking permission from the parents, shopping for rings ...

It was Flitwick who pointed out that as far as the school was concerned, they'd been dating for the past seven years. True, they may not have had a 'real' date (as in time spent at the movies eating popcorn or just staring at each other across a table in Madam Puddifoot's) but they had spent more time together than most couples had before they were married!

Minerva also pointed out that _magic_ – and their world – already considered them married, being soul-bonded as per the Book of Souls and the evidence of their own eyes.

Having no other options, Harry finally acceded – only to turn green and almost lose his lunch at the mention of the fact that he still had to ask permission from Hermione's parents. That they were on their way was no consolation … Harry's complaint that he could just imagine being introduced as "Lord Harry James Potter-Black, _blah blah blah_ and Hermione's soul mate which means I need your permission to marry her right away."

The snickering in the room ended with Hermione's saucy yet heartfelt "I'll protect you, Harry … I always do" to which he answered with a much more controlled kiss than the one they'd witnessed earlier.

Remus sighed; the appearance of Anastasia the phoenix a few minutes earlier meant that the Grangers were at the gates … he wondered if Kingsley would send him and Tonks to Azkaban if they _Imperio'd_ the Grangers to agree to the marriage between their only daughter and Harry Potter …

***

**The Front Gates, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

A ball of fire flashed in front of the gates with winged hogs and three people materialized out of the flames. A heartbeat later, and the firebird flamed out on her mission, leaving the three behind – an apparently middle-aged, auburn-haired woman wearing a smartly-cut business suit beneath her wizarding robes, and a man and woman in jeans, shirts and denim jackets who blinked and shook their heads – moments before, they were looking at a magnificent castle bedecked in lights and enchanting in the moonlight; right now, all they could see was an expansive patch of wild grass with ancient ruins in the distance.

"Calmly now," the auburn-haired woman said. "Hold on to me if you must; Anastasia's gone to fetch mum. She has to be here to adjust the wards for you."

The two nodded, looking around uneasily at the moonlit terrain. They were in the middle of a dark and gloomy forest that they knew was full of magical creatures both light and dark … Dan and Emma Granger relaxed as much as they could, although both were near-bouncing in eager anticipation of seeing the daughter they loved after nearly a year of being apart. Their time in Australia had been good for them: they were tanned, much fitter and healthier than they were for the past two decades; and they understood their daughter's world much better now, given the environment of Magical Australia and their friendship with its head of government.

At the same time, Dan was nervously fingering the hard plastic case that he was lugging under his arm – only to freeze when he realized that the Minister of Magic for Australia (and former Master Auror) Samantha Wallace's eyes were glinting as they focused on him. With deft flicks of her wand, the hard case was in her hand – along with the 9 mm Browning pistol that was hidden, holstered, beneath Emma's jacket.

"I'm holding on to this," the former Auror said as she shrunk and pocketed the items. "I _know_ you want to scare off that redheaded buffoon who had the sheer gall to elope with your daughter but it will be Mum you'll first see … won't do to kill the Headmistress because of itchy trigger fingers now would it?"

The two looked sheepishly at the ground but were unrepentant; Samantha sighed. She'd tried to warn them about bringing their personal weapons to the school; they may be proficient with those things but against several hundred wands …

Samantha smiled when she heard the warbling melody of Anastasia's song; with a flash of phoenix fire, two people were visible in the moonlight. One, a young woman with bushy brown hair, hurtled towards Dan and Emma and nearly bowled them over with the ferocity of her hug.

Samantha Minerva McGonagall Wallace, Minister of Magic for the Commonwealth of Australia, watched the scene with fondness, teary-eyed as she remembered past reunions with her own parents. Smiling, she watched as the other person approached at a dignified pace and Samantha, throwing all dignity to the wind, simply jumped and wrapped her arms around her mother before lifting her up and giving her mother a kiss on the cheek. She then held Minerva at arm's length, her eyes moving down in a well-practiced pattern to check for wounds, ailments or other flaws even as Minerva stood still and allowed the scrutiny.

"William couldn't make it," she replied to her mother's questioning look. "The bairns are teethin' so he told me to go ahead … those two (she indicated the Granger parents who were still wrapped around their daughter) were about to go postal on us …" She smirked at her mother's puzzled look and said, "You don't want to know … but there's something you're supposed to do?"

Minerva nodded and approached the Grangers, where Hermione was still talking a mile a minute. Samantha giggled. "Goodness," Samantha said in admiration, "does the child even take a breath?"

"Give her a break, Sammie," Minerva said softly. The three Grangers turned and smiled with Minerva exchanging hugs and cheek kisses with the parents of her favourite pupil. She then pulled out her wand and began the complicated movements and murmured chanting that would attune the muggle Grangers to the wards.

It was the only thing that had stopped Anastasia from depositing her daughter and the Grangers right in the Great Hall; there was no telling what the wards would do to the Grangers if they just 'dropped in.' The wards were up and running just before the goblins arrived; they may not be at full power yet but what they may do to unauthorized muggles did not bear thinking about.

On the other hand, Minerva thought to herself, it could be a good thing … at least Hermione will have a chance to talk with them and prepare the way, so to speak.

She heard simultaneous gasps and knew the wards had accepted the Grangers; Dan and Emma were staring in wide-eyed surprise at the magical castle in all its ethereal beauty and shimmering majesty, lit by moonlight and magnificent in the midst of the gloom.

Hermione started dragging her parents through the now opened gates of the school, following a well-worn and well-remembered path to the castle's front doors, talking a mile a minute and causing the mother and daughter who were following to chuckle.

Minerva and her daughter walked in silence, comfortable with the proximity to the other that they'd missed over the past months. Minerva was trying to work out something in her mind – she needed to ask a favour from her daughter but wasn't sure how to ask.

It was Samantha who provided the opening she needed: "So, mother, things are settling down, I heard … I understand that congratulations are in order?"

A puzzled Headmistress turned to her, and Samantha rolled her eyes. "Oh really, mother! The Prophet started delivering again in Australia and we saw the news …"

She stopped in her tracks at hearing the fervent "_Shyte!_" that escaped her mother's lips – Minerva McGonagall _never_ swore – but her brain got a kick start when she heard an angrily raised voice ahead of her: "THAT IS A LIE! Someone pranked us – we think we know who and why but I am not, and NEVER WILL BE, married to Ronald Bilius Weasley!"

A murmur of voices and the raised voice rapped out, "How can I be sure? Simple – I'M SOUL-BONDED TO HARRY JAMES … meep!"

For the first time in her life, Samantha M. Wallace saw her mother _wilt_. It took a moment to process the information – she was McGonagall's daughter, after all – and she grinned at her mother as she said, "Oops!"

Her statement was punctuated with a warbling song from the phoenix who was riding on her shoulder and she smiled – Anastasia was on the ball, as always, and she could see the three people ahead of her relax as seemingly unbearable tensions flowed away from them, carried off by the soothing sound of phoenix song. She saw her mother shake her head, straighten her shoulders and walk with grim determination towards her favourite student.

She moved to catch up with her mother, her mind focused on a single thought: "This should be good!" Anastasia's warble at her shoulder told her that the firebird agreed with her completely.

***

**The Great Hall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

It was the sudden hush that that alerted Harry to his impending doom. He looked up from his contemplation of the tablecloth in front of him and gulped at the first sight of Hermione's parents in almost six years.

The Mr Granger that Harry remembered was a tall man with Hermione's brown hair and eyes, eyes that had a dreamy quality to them which could sharpen with a hidden wit and intelligence. Those eyes were not dreamy this time, they were sharp and focused; it was also apparent that Mr Granger had taken up body building in the meantime as the chest beneath the pale blue shirt and the legs within the denim jeans were rippling with muscles that were not apparent the last time Harry saw him.

It was Mrs Granger, however, who had Harry shivering as his eyes met hers. He remembered a tall, slim woman with dark brown hair, curly as opposed to Hermione's bush, but with surprisingly blue eyes in a rather pale face. What he was looking at could have stepped out of Vernon's large-format telly – the lead character in a much-favoured show that Vernon and Dudley religiously followed while Petunia sniffed and was busy in the kitchen, Harry with her … something about a warrior princess.

The incarnation in the Great Hall was a close approximation: the dark brown, almost black hair was now straight and fell to broad shoulders, muscles rippled beneath the shirt and jeans … Mrs Granger looked as if she would be far more comfortable wielding Gryffindor's sword while battling the basilisk than Harry ever would!

The elder Grangers had locked on Harry moments after they'd entered the hall; they started walking with purposeful steps up the centre aisle with Hermione beside them, whispering in a voice so low that no one could understand a word. No one noticed the Australian Minister of Magic who was standing in the doorway beside the Headmistress; if one had looked, the resemblances between mother and daughter would have been cause for comment.

As the Grangers approached, Harry wondered why Hermione had sent them away. To keep them safe? That was a laugh … the way those two looked now, Voldemort would have two options if he confronted them: run for the hills screaming like a little girl facing the bogey man – or fall down on his knees to worship them (or worship Emma, if he hadn't lost his male hormones).

Knees.

The word lingered in Harry's mind … and something deep within Harry came to life and flared within his brain.

Deliberately, he stood and stepped off the platform on which the head table sat, and started walking with a measured pace to meet the parents of his beloved.

The older Grangers were impressed when they saw this but did their best not to show it; they had, after all, spent almost seven years with nothing but stories and pictures of Harry Potter. Ron Weasley they knew about, but this was almost always in a pejorative sense except for a brief time in Hermione's sixth year. It was Harry they thought they knew best – except that they always treated the stories with a huge pinch of salt since they could see their daughter's utter fascination and dogged devotion to the lad.

The Prophet's arrival at Samantha's home this morning was a rude shock which had Dan cleaning his shotgun and the service pistol he'd kept from his time in the Royal Marines, while Emma contemplated bringing along her Japanese-made kitchen knives. Samantha (who had heard much about Hermione and Harry from the Grangers and her own mother's frequent letters and infrequent visits over the past seven years) had calmed them down, but it was a near thing.

The time spent walking to the castle and the Hall had been well spent, however. Between Hermione, Minerva and Samantha, the Grangers knew there was little they could do – magic had apparently intervened and their daughter was married to her young man, although she still needed their permission and a ceremony to make it official.

That they would grant permission was a no-brainer; that didn't mean, however, that they couldn't have some fun with their daughter and his intended. All this had been decided with a few glances and unconscious flickers of their facial muscles.

The Grangers and Harry Potter approached each other silently; the tension in the Great Hall was ramping up exponentially; even the ghosts were silent as they watched – the Bloody Baron's sharp gaze had silenced Peeves. Unknown to everyone there, nervous hands had palmed wands all over the hall … the Granger parents didn't know it but a sneeze would have sent hundreds of lethal hexes, jinxes and curses flying at them …

The Grangers stopped in the middle of the Great Hall; less than three feet away, Harry Potter also stopped, eyes switching from mother to father – not in a shifty manner but deliberately holding each for a long moment before moving to the other.

Hermione had fallen silent, shifting her weight from foot to foot in nervousness. She'd done her best to explain the situation that Harry and she found themselves in; McGonagall had tried her best to clarify things and even Samantha had put her two knuts in, but everything seemed to have fallen on deaf ears. Her parents started walking like a pair of articulated robots with focused expressions on their faces … pausing only at the entrance to get their bearings and spot their target before continuing in the best traditions of classic Western films like 'High Noon'.

The silence stretched to the breaking point; when it seemed to Hermione that her only option was to scream just to release then tension in her gut, Harry James Potter did something that caught everyone – human, goblin, (disillusioned) elves and ghosts – by surprise: he dropped to his knees in front of her parents but kept his back straight and his arms by his side … his eyes locked firmly with Emma's.

The silence in the Hall was broken by Harry's ringing voice: "Honoured Emma Elizabeth Granger," he turned his head to meet Mr Granger's eyes, "Honoured Daniel Marion Granger." He paused as he centred himself and his mind focused on the page he'd read in a cold tent months before, words that had not been heard or uttered for hundreds of years by wizards or witches: "Under the eye of Fahla who sees all, I say that I am deeply in love with your daughter. Her happiness is my ambition; her well-being is my purpose. All that is mine I place freely at her disposal, including my heart, my soul, and my life, which I would gladly lay down to protect hers. This I swear in Fahla's name. I am Harry James Potter, and I ask this gift of you and all your ancestors: Will you do me the honour of accepting me into your family?"

For a single moment, even the candles in the Great Hall stopped flickering as everyone and everything held its collective breath. The shocked Grangers stared at Harry, speechless, only for the elder Grangers to nearly jump as they realized that their level-headed, strong willed daughter had moved to kneel beside Harry.

Hermione silently grabbed hold of his hand before turning to them: "Under the eye of Fahla, who knows all and sees all, I say that I am deeply in love with Harry James Potter. His happiness is my ambition; his well-being is my purpose. All that is mine I place freely at his disposal, including my heart, my soul, and my life, which I would gladly lay down to protect his. This I swear in Fahla's name. I am Hermione Jane Granger, and I ask this of you: Will you speak for all of our ancestors, and accept Harry into our family?"

Her last words were choked as tears spilled out of her eyes; this was a moment that she had never envisioned in her wildest dreams, and would never have been able to predict in a thousand years. She waited breathlessly for her parents' response, not realizing that she and Harry had caught them by total surprise!

What the Grangers must do was clear – they knew it going in; they simply thought to have some fun with their daughter's intended. But how to respond … instinctively they both knew that the response had to be exactly right, else everything that should be would be lost.

The silence of the Great Hall was broken by soft buzzing as people whispered, wondering what in Hades their heroes were doing. To their surprise, it was the goblins who knew the answer: this was an ancient rite, of which the origins were lost in the mists of time. The goblins still practiced it (in fact, many of the goblins in the Great Hall had gone through it) but it had fallen out of favour with the humans. In fact, one goblin at Natalie's table said that it was Godric Gryffindor and Rowena Ravenclaw who were among the last they knew who'd used it.

Emma was about to wing it when she overheard the whispers … and her memory kicked in, her inner eye reflecting the page from a centuries' old book she'd perused in Samantha's library … she gave her husband a glance and he nodded to her to respond for them.

Without hesitation, Emma stepped forward and placed her hands on Harry and Hermione's heads. She spoke in a clear, ringing voice: "My children, we hear your petition. Under the eye of Fahla, who connects our past with our future, and in the name of all of our ancestors, we say that Harry James Potter is now one of our family. May our descendants rejoice in this bond, which enriches our family beyond measure."

The candles in the Great Hall flickered wildly as a collective breath was expelled; there were no cheers or applause, however, for the Hogwarts ghosts – the Bloody Baron, the Grey Lady, the Fat Friar, Sir Nicholas and even Moaning Myrtle – had hurtled around the room, finger to lips in a clear sign to keep silence.

Harry and Hermione had stood up and were embraced in turn by Hermione's parents, who both had tears in their eyes. Hermione tapped Harry's shoulder and nodded; as one and still holding hands, they walked to the table where Remus Lupin stood gaping –Hermione dropped to her knees as her soprano voice cleaved the silence: "Honoured Remus John Lupin, as Harry's only remaining true family, I ask you to hear my petition."

Like Harry before her, she visibly centred herself before continuing, "Under the eye of Fahla who sees all, I say that I am deeply in love with Harry James Potter. His happiness is my ambition; his well-being is my purpose. All that is mine I place freely at his disposal, including my heart, my soul, and my life, which I would gladly lay down to protect his. This I swear in Fahla's name. I am Hermione Jane Granger, and I ask this gift of you and all your ancestors: Will you do me the honour of accepting me into your family?"

Remus' cheeks were awash with tears, as was Tonks', when Harry joined Hermione on the floor, and his voice filled the silence: "You are my family; the only one whose acceptance I would seek." Taking Hermione's hand, he repeated the ancient words: "Under the eye of Fahla who sees all, I say that I am deeply in love with Hermione Jane Granger. Her happiness is my ambition; her well-being is my purpose. All that is mine I place freely at her disposal, including my heart, my soul, and my life, which I would gladly lay down to protect hers. This I swear. I am Harry James Potter, and I ask this of you: Will you speak for my mother and father, for my godfather and yourself and all of our ancestors, and accept Hermione into our family?"

Remus couldn't speak – like Hermione, this was something that he had never envisioned happening, not even if he lived a thousand years. His heart swelled at Hermione's words, calling him Harry's only true family; his heart nearly burst when he heard Harry affirming his place in the young man's heart.

He had to be poked by Tonks before he could move. Placing his hands on the two teens' heads, his choked voice responded, "My children, I hear your petition. Under the eye of Fahla, who connects our past with our future, and in the name of my …" he sobbed, "my best friends James, Lily and Sirius and all of our ancestors, we say that Hermione Jane Granger is now one of our family. May our descendants rejoice in this bond, which enriches our family beyond measure."

As Harry and Hermione rose to their feet, a resounding cheer that threatened to crack the ceiling of the Great Hall broke – people and goblins were on their feet cheering, clapping, stomping their feet (the goblins joining in), whistling … the two teens felt themselves being wrapped in hugs from behind and they knew that it was Hermione's parents … before they could protest, Remus and Tonks were hugging them from the front and a group hug was in progress.

"SILENCE!"

It felt like a guillotine cut the noise into deafening silence as people looked around for the source of the shout – and gaped when they realized that it was Headmistress Minerva McGonagall who'd done so.

"There is one final step, if Harry and Hermione are willing?"

The two looked at each other and nodded; they turned to Hermione's parents – who also nodded in resignation. They knew what Minerva meant, having discussed this only minutes ago; Remus, however, looked bemused but was willing to go along.

Minerva turned to her daughter, eyebrow raised. Samantha, with Annabelle still on her shoulders, shook her head and smiled as she said, "The problem will be the rings …"

Ragnok interrupted her, "Hem, Hem … after our meeting, and on the advice of my consort, I took the liberty of having something retrieved from the Potter vaults. Lord Potter?"

He held another ornate box out to Harry who hesitantly approached, took and opened it to reveal a pair of rings – clearly ancient, with no stones or other adornments except a line of runes running around their golden surface. He looked at Ragnok curiously but it was Remus who drew a sharp breath, "It's the Potter ancestral wedding rings, Harry! The last time I saw them, James and Lily wore them …"

Ragnok nodded. "Actually, these are the wedding rings of the Lord and Lady of Clan Potter. Goblin-forged, they were a gift from the Goblin Nation to Clan Potter for being the first depositors and clients of the bank. Aside from the protective magic, they have one other function: to be transported magically to the vaults on the passing of their owners, to be ready for retrieval when needed by the next Lord."

He turned to Harry. "I hope I was not too presumptuous …"

Harry stopped him. "I thank you for your kindness and foresight, Clan Chief. I see it as a reaffirmation of the bonds between the Nation and my Clan. Would I be overfamiliar in turn if I ask that you and your Consort stand as witness to me and my Hermione?"

Ragnok glanced at his wife, who winked at him. "We would be honoured, Lord Potter."

It took some time to prepare but between magic, the Hogwarts and Potter elves (which included Kreacher at both Harry and Hermione's insistence), they were ready in no time.

A wave of Minerva's wand and the candles in the Great Hall were extinguished, leaving the moon, which was at its zenith, to cast its silvery rays through the transparent ceiling of the Great Hall, bathing the entire space in ethereal moonlight.

In the centre of the Great Hall stood Samantha Minerva McGonagall Wallace, Minister of Magic for Australia and a registered Binder, Annabelle the phoenix on her shoulder, its soft croons the only music the event needed. In front of her stood Harry and Hermione, with her parents and Remus and Tonks directly behind them and slightly to either side.

To Harry's left stood Ragnok and Reena, representing the Goblin Nation, along with Hagrid and Firenze the Centaur. To Hermione's right stood the Weasleys, with Molly having been called from the Hospital Wing (she explained that both Arthur and Ron were still sedated and unable to make it). Hermione's disappointment was only slightly faked; she'd hoped that Arthur could have joined but was relieved that Ron wasn't there. Hermione blinked when Ginny pulled Susan with her in line; she had half-expected some fireworks from the redheaded former girlfriend of her Harry but was gratified when Ginny merely winked at her and blew her and Harry a kiss.

Behind Samantha stood Kingsley Shacklebolt as the Minister of Magic for Great Britain, with Minerva McGonagall and Filius Flitwick standing in line. All around the Hall were students, parents and teachers, all of them grateful for the opportunity to be witness to what they knew would be a once in a lifetime event.

Moving around was Luna Lovegood, carrying a magical camera that a Potter elf had retrieved from somewhere they all knew was best not to ask about. After a brief discussion with Harry and Hermione, she was designated the official wedding photographer and the Quibbler was granted exclusive rights to both story and pictures. All three felt keenly the loss of Colin Creevey, one of the few casualties of the war that they knew … but life must go on.

Samantha Wallace took a final look around and said to the couple in front of her, "Let's get this show on the road."

She took a deep breath and began.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today beneath the light of the moon to witness the joining of two souls …"

She spoke briefly of the two that she had heard so much about, from proud parents and an even prouder teacher; talked briefly of love, commitment and love's endless promise, about how patience and compassion were the keys to a successful marriage.

She then asked for the rings – and blinked when two elves (Kreacher and Winky) stepped forward to hand the box to her.

Nodding, she handed one to Hermione and the smaller of the pair to Harry.

"Place the ring on each other's finger and present me with your left palms please."

Both rings were slipped on and as the teens held out their hands she made a cut across each of the palms with her wand.

Samantha then asked them to clasp their hands and said, "Don't release until I tell you." They nodded at her. "Harry. Hermione. Please repeat after me. With this ring, this symbol of our vow, I bind my heart to your heart, my magic to your magic, and my soul to your soul, forever and eternity."

As Harry and Hermione began to repeat after Samantha, the air turned a pearly colour.

When they said they bound their hearts to the other's, a gold ribbon wound around their hands, a second ribbon appeared when they bound their magic, and lastly a third ribbon wrapped around them as they bound their souls.

On the word, eternity, there was a blinding gold light and the ribbon disappeared.

"So mote it be."

The words were said reflexively – Samantha, like everybody in the Hall (except for Harry and Hermione) were trying to blink the spots out of their eyes. Luna was seated at a table, her camera beside her and hoping that the flash she'd seen through the lens hadn't burned the film – and that there was a picture she could develop. It wouldn't be a picture if all anyone would see was a field of golden light!

Soon enough, Samantha turned their palms over and inspected the cuts and smiled at the two. "Congratulations. The tradition is for you now to kiss."

She blinked when she heard a sibilant "_Shyte!_" from behind her, and turned to glare at her mother – and blinked again when she realized that Minerva had conjured a pair of sunglasses which she handed to the Minister before conjuring another pair for herself. She opened her mouth, only to close it as Flitwick handed her another pair.

All over the Great Hall, people were looking askance at the goings on around the wedding party: Bill Weasley (who had worked with Gringotts-Cairo and was familiar with desert attire) had conjured a pair of dark glasses for his wife and then himself; the twins, after observing their eldest brother, had quickly followed his example and were conjuring the same for their siblings and mother.

Reena, who had headed the Gringotts Curse Breakers, had copied Bill's actions and had dark glasses for herself and her husband. Luna Lovegood, seasoned traveller that she was, was putting on a pair of dark glasses shaped like goggles. The Grangers, seeing what was going on around them, pulled sunglasses out of their jackets – many of the muggle-born blinked at the sight of Dan Granger looking like Arnold Schwarzenegger in Terminator II – square faced and square-jawed, muscles bulging and dark glasses covering the upper half of his face.

They shifted their attention to Harry who was smiling at Hermione as he cupped her cheeks in his hands. He leaned forward and gently met her lips with his.

Within seconds those who wondered at the actuations of those around the pair understood as a fiery red and gold aura, burning in its intensity, sprung into existence around the kissing couple – the light growing in intensity to rival anything that they had ever seen before. Those with unprotected eyes tried to turn away, in fear of their eyes melting away as the fiery aura turned into a golden pillar of flame that reached to the ceiling.

None realized that they had fallen to their knees in the presence of so much magic – all they would remember later on was the golden pillar of light and the sensation of _something_ on their skins before the triumphant cry and song of a phoenix penetrated their numbed senses.

They cautiously opened their eyes to see the pillar of flame fading away and they waited, half-fearfully, to see if Harry and Hermione had turned to ash from the intensity of the flame. A collective breath was released when they saw the couple holding hands, looking around them, bemused.

As they shakily got to their feet, a shaken Samantha Wallace cast a silent _Sonorus_ on herself and said, in an amplified voice, "Ladies and Gentlemen … Magical Peoples of Britain … I give you Mister and Missus Harry James Potter-Black!"

She paused, her hands in the air, and said the words that would soon become a part of every magical wedding around the world: "May our descendants rejoice in this bond, which enriches our world beyond measure."

As the cheers echoed and re-echoed around the Hall (again threatening to bring down the ceiling on their heads), something was happening in the Master Bedroom of Malfoy Manor. A sleeping Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy never saw it but pinpricks of golden light seemed to emerge from their bodies … which swiftly coalesced into a dense cloud at the centre of their chests before seemingly imploding silently and disappearing in the wink of an eye.

In another bedroom, Draco Malfoy rolled over as he dreamed of swimming in a sea of gold – galleons, necklaces, rings, goblets – and never noticed the same thing happening to him.

In the Hospital Wing of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, a bleary-eyed Ronald Bilius Weasley stared at the golden glow suffusing his father but he quickly fell back on his bed as his head was still ringing from the non-stop Howler pouring words directly into his ear from earlier.

In the Great Hall, the celebration interrupted by the arrival of the Grangers continued but with an even more intensified pace as numerous toasts were raised to the goblins, to Harry and Hermione, to the Grangers, to Hermione and Harry, to the Ministers of Magic, to Harry and Hermione, to Minerva McGonagall, to Harry and Hermione …

***

**AUTHOR'S NOTES**: When I started this story almost exactly a year ago, the basic outline of this chapter as well as key passages was already in my head. Who knew it would take me a year to get to this point? And it's not over yet … one more chapter to go.

Before I even put the first word to 'paper' or saw the first word on the computer screen, I sent an email to **Fletcher DeLancey**, a fiction writer whose story "**Without A Front**" was one of the many that enthralled me during the months (or was it years?) that I thought I had abandoned the HP universe. I requested permission (which she so graciously granted) to make use of portions of her story for this tale.

The "Testament to Fahla" (or at least what I called these passages) were lifted in their entirety (except for the names and gender) from her tale. The first time I read the novel (WAF is book-length) and encountered the passage, I knew that I would be making use of it if ever I got my writing juices back. It did and I did.

If you wish to read her stories, they can be found at http (colon) (double slash) **fletcherdelanceydotcom**. (Replace the dot with a ".") :P Fair warning, though, Ms DeLancey writes lesbian fiction; if that bothers you, don't read it. If you get beyond that, you will find a series of beautifully written, totally exciting, thought provoking and ultimately wonderful stories set in the Star Trek: Voyager universe, of which WAF is one.

If you do drop by her site because of this, please drop a note as to how you found her tale.

You may also recognize the wedding scene from the above. Yes, it came from "**Breach of Trust**" from **Hlpur** and yes, I most definitely asked permission from Helena to make use of it. A strange coincidence … it is also just about a year since she's updated her stories … here's hoping that she will get back to her writing soon.

To all those who've read this tale, marked it as a favourite, or include it in their alerts – as well as those who've reviewed, my deepest gratitude.

Right now, it's time for a break … some sleep and back to the keyboard.

Thank you.


	11. Chapter 11

**Grace Aux Malfoys**

As always, I don't own nuthin' except my much-used copies of Books 1-5 of the Harry Potter series as well as the DVDs for the same. Am not making anything from this except the emotional and spiritual fulfillment of knowing people like and appreciate my occasional meanderings into someone else's playground.

My deepest thanks to **grenouille7777** for a much-needed boot up the proverbial backside to get this chapter out and leave all the excess angsty 'tweaking' behind. Please assist me in showing appreciation by dropping over at his latest story "**Not So Muggleborn**" (which can be found on this site; just use the search button above) and leaving him a review. That (and his other stories) are well worth the time.

Without further ado ...

**Chapter 11.**

**The Master's Chamber, Malfoy Manor (7:00 AM)**

Sunlight found a chink in the armour of the heavy curtains of the master's bedroom, allowing a single beam of light to provide scant illumination – barely outlining the sleeping forms entwined on the unmade bed: both long-haired and blonde, refined faces smiling in the bliss of sleep.

They were spooned tightly, Narcissa's back against her husband's chest. Lucius was naked, an arm around his wife, holding her tight, a thigh thrust between her slim, shapely legs. Narcissa, on the other hand, was wearing a sheer silk negligee that barely covered her bum with nothing else beneath.

They were locked in erotic dreams that they'd not had for so long – or maybe not. Doubtless such imaginings had always been there, but these particular fantasies had been suppressed, buried beneath visions of torture and mayhem, of nightmares of spell fire and destruction, daydreams of survival from a certifiably insane overlord …

Erotic dreaming was a welcome change to their battered psyches – images of a time when they were young and full of lust, smouldering glances filled with thoughts of what they would do when naked and alone, fantasies of broom closets or the silence-charmed draperies of their beds in the dorms beneath Hogwarts dancing in their heads.

Soon enough, erotic reveries began crossing the line separating fantasy and reality: Lucius' hands roaming, exploring nooks and crannies long ignored but never forgotten; Narcissa pushing her posterior into his groin, even as she rubbed her lower lips against his thigh …

Without waking, the two shifted – Lucius on top and moving, Narcissa below and waiting … their movements becoming frenzied, violent – Lucius' bottom pumping, undulating frantically in a way that would have made the pistons of the Hogwarts Express proud; Narcissa's legs behind his back, heels slapping and spurring him to greater heights and even more forceful pumping …

Narcissa's eyes snapped open – her head whipped around frantically, wide eyes taking in her dim surroundings even as her body recognized the hard body above her, hips slamming, callused hands on her breasts, caressing, pinching …

She could feel nothing.

NOT. A. _THING. _

None of the well-remembered sensation of Lucius' impressive length buried in her … _nothing_ of the mingled pain and pleasure as she adjusted to fit his girth and length within her … none of the charged, electric wonder as his experienced fingers manipulated her nipples …

She could not even SENSE the building pleasure in her loins and chest, merging, pooling together into liquid heat, lifting her higher and higher until she couldn't breathe –

Except SOMETHING between her legs: feather-light, wispy as the air kisses she exchanged with acquaintances …

The conflicting sensations, emotions and memories overwhelmed her and she MOVED – throwing him off her to flop on his back, hips still pumping even as she twisted her torso, scrabbling for her wand and stopping, gaping as she caught sight of something she never expected to see …

Not for at least another seventy or a hundred years.

To say that Lucius was in shock is to put things very, very _mildly _… he'd been locked in the overwhelming memories of his youth, visualizing his young, trim and _gorgeous_ body moving like a bull in heat, hips pumping, the well-remembered feeling of liquid heat enclosing him even as Narcissa's lower folds alternately grabbed and released him …

He was reaching the point of no return … he could feel the build-up in his groin, that ever-tightening sensation in his loins that signalled the approaching explosion of his seed, that wondrous, mind-blowing sensation of 'hosing' his wife both inside and out with his warm, copious fluids …

He'd drawn in his breath to scream in ecstasy – caught his breath as he felt cold, _cold_ hands on his chest and the hard points of rounded knee caps on his hips … in the next second, he was on his back, bouncing once, twice, the air from his lungs escaping in a loud 'OOOF' of dismay …

Caught by surprise, he lifted himself on his elbows, blazing eyes tracking as his mind processed what happened even as he forced back the sense of regret that he'd be wasting his ejaculate on his stomach or the bed …

Only to gape at the sight of sunlight on his groin – and the insignificant, paltry, tiny little _THING_ flopping down there … and felt the gentle breeze caressing what felt like quail eggs to him …

His frightened squeak mingled with the blood curdling scream of his wife – effectively masking the desperate screech of frustration from another bedroom where an angry, exhausted and thoroughly pissed Draco lay on his back, hand still grabbing and pulling at his own limp and flaccid dick, painfully inflamed and sore after nearly an hour of wanking to no avail, his now tiny penis having far less elasticity than day-old noodles …

**The Hospital Wing, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (7:15 AM) **

A primly coiffed, straight-backed, gimlet-eyed Poppy Pomfrey entered the Hospital Wing, silently thanking the gods of healing for keeping several vials of Sober-Up potion in her personal quarters. Otherwise, she'd have woken with a blinding headache, a Kneazle-sized tongue – and feeling guilty for not doing her early morning rounds.

Not that there were that many patients in her domain, she thought as she paused in front of a particular bed – and smiled.

There was absolutely nothing to differentiate this bed from the others – nothing except vivid memories of an eleven-year old Harry Potter lying unconscious while Hermione napped in an chair beside him; where a petrified Hermione laid while Harry caressed her ivory hand; where a bruised and battered Harry stared as a teary-eyed Hermione showed him the shattered pieces of his Nimbus 2000 …

The Hospital Wing may not have been the most romantic place in the school but it has had its own share of moments and memories …

She sighed as she turned to the current occupants in the wing – one young and slim, the other older and stockier, both topped with red hair that had been a fixture in in the wing for decades from Quidditch injuries, backfiring pranks or visiting friends and siblings.

Calling them casualties of the recent war was stretching things a bit, she thought, as she began her examination of Ronald Weasley. Moving her wand in precise patterns, incanting beneath her breath, she watched the glowing colours and numbers floating above him and nodded – no signs of injury or bruising, the concussion from yesterday morning now gone. He'd probably wake up complaining of nothing more than an empty stomach, a full bladder and a constant ringing in his ears …

Poppy ended her examination and nodded. She'd release Ron as soon as he woke up – but she was ready to offer him asylum from the frenzy outside the doors. He better dig a deep hole in Hagrid's pumpkin patch to avoid the booby-trapped letters and Howlers coming his way from an irate public once they remembered the wedding 'picture' of himself and Hermione in yesterday's Daily Prophet.

Smirking, she turned to the other bed and sighed. It was this patient that worried her.

**FLASHBACK (Mid-Afternoon, The Day Before)**

She gaped as the doors banged open and the Weasleys entered, Bill and Charlie levitating their unconscious father between them, Molly, Fleur and Ginny following with Susan Bones in the rear.

She directed them to the bed beside Ronald even as she started casting diagnostic charms on Arthur, murmuring as colours glowed – "Multiple Stunners, bruised jaw … smashed bits –" She stopped and looked up, frowning at the suddenly fidgeting family.

To her surprise, it was Susan Bones who answered. "Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder," she said calmly as she met the Healer's eyes. "Combat Fatigue," the young woman clarified.

Poppy kept her eyes on the young woman, her silence a question in itself. The young woman stared back at her and Poppy blinked, remembering the stories she'd heard about the once-quiet girl … Susan would know what combat fatigue was, she realized, perhaps far better than the others in the room.

The rattle of a tray distracted her, and she turned to see Luna Lovegood to one side, saying, "Should we wake Mr Weasley? He's heavily infested with Wrackspurts …"

Poppy blinked at the spaced-out blond and nodded. Experienced or not, Miss Bones was not a Healer and she had to do her own diagnosis. And so, she pointed her wand at Arthur as she forcefully murmured, "Enervate!"

And jumped in shock when Arthur's eyes blinked open, locked on Susan Bones who was standing directly in his line of sight and he surged from the bed, arms stretching, fingers curved like talons, screaming, "GET YOUR HANDS OFF HER, YOU HARLOT!"

Only to fall back as a Stunner hit him – and all eyes turned to Luna Lovegood, wand in hand, gaping at a man she had known most of her life …

**END FLASHBACK**

Poppy Pomfrey shook her head. She wasn't a Mind Healer by any stretch of the imagination and gratefully accepted Fleur's offer to call in an outside consultant who was. Molly and the children were of no real help as none of them could explain what had happened except to say that he'd tried to attack Susan – twice – within the last few hours, for no reason they could come up with.

There was something more, she was sure, but if no one wanted to talk about it … she had no choice but make Arthur comfortable, administer Dreamless Sleep Potion – and express her thanks to Bill for setting up wards that would alert her so she could leave the wing for a few hours of well-deserved relaxation.

She shook off the memories, centred herself and went into her diagnostics mode, checking off items against her mental list … pulse OK, blood pressure normal, bruises healed, still in dreamless sleep, magical index – and blinked as the last scan produced a single glowing number floating in front of her.

'That can't be right,' she thought. She rolled her shoulders, took a deep breath and centred herself, casting the diagnostic charm once again – only to come up with the same result.

Zero.

A low, guttural moan behind her made her jump; turning, she gasped at the wide-eyed, slack jawed face of Molly Weasley; instincts kicked in and Molly was led to a bed beside Arthur. There was no way to fudge this, Poppy thought. Molly knew the charm, how to cast it and what the number meant – it was a charm all magical parents learned early on to check their children's magical strength but Poppy was focused on Molly's expression: utter resignation, complete surrender – pained acceptance.

The matriarch's hoarse voice startled her: "Call Bill, Poppy … call Bill, please. He … he …"

Poppy nodded. She knew what the other woman meant. She turned and focused, trying to gather her wits enough to send a messenger Patronus to the eldest Weasley son even as a line continually ran through her head: "The King is dead, long live the King."

**The Hogs Head Inn, Hogsmeade Village (7:30 AM)**

An ashen-faced Minerva stumbled down the stairs, to be met by Aberforth Dumbledore at the bar with seven shot glasses lined up, all filled to the brim with a clear liquid.

Without a word, the Headmistress grabbed a glass and slugged it down, slamming it on the bar even as the fiery liquid flowed down her throat – reaching for a second glass without thinking and slugging it down … only this time, setting it on the bar gently even as she felt her breathing slow down.

"Thanks," she croaked as she visibly controlled her body's shuddering. "I needed that." Aberforth nodded, his gesture signifying agreement although he never raised his head to look at her.

"HOW?" she spat and the old man raised his head to look at a face that had generations of students reaching for the bog rolls before shrugging his shoulders in the universal gesture of "I don't know nuthin'."

Aberforth reached for a shot glass and tossed the drink down his throat. "It's hae I foun' em this morning, Minnie," he said, slurring. "I knew Albus was in there – heard his thrice-damned voice proclaiming somethin' or other to Arianna yesterday and decided to let well enough alone … I took a peek this morning an' there he was …"

McGonagall shivered, wondering how a day that started so brilliantly could rain cow droppings so quickly. She'd woken that morning with a slight buzz but with a much lightened heart; the day before may have been filled with shocks and surprises but ended up so, so beautifully. She went through her morning routine gently humming a Scottish beat (something she hadn't done in decades) when the panicked voice of Aberforth blasted from the floo in her quarters, begging her to come to his bar right away.

It was only a sense of duty to the last remaining relative of an old friend that had her moving; at the same time, she hoped that a brisk walk would disperse the fog of indulgence from last night. She entered the Hog's Head to the sight of a rumpled, crumpled Aberforth who nodded in greeting and pointed to the stairs, silently entreating her to go to a room that she'd heard of never seen before.

She wasn't surprised at the portrait of a child-like young woman playing her mindless games – after Rita Skeeter's blasphemies and the tales of the students and others who'd use the room to sneak into Hogwarts, what else was she to expect?

It was the sight of the once-revered leader of the light, her former superior and dear friend, playing patty-cake with Ariana that had her in a near-catatonic state. Especially when said mage turned to her with the tell-tale twinkle she'd known for so long but with none of the fierce intellect or steely determination she associated with the man.

There was only an innocent, child-like expression of glee when he saw her and called out, "Hello! Are you here to play with us?"

It took everything she had not to hurl last night's dinner and assorted liquids at the portrait; she shook her head 'no' and stumbled out of the room, the image of Albus Dumbledore with his resplendent robes swirling around him as he danced to the delighted amusement of his sister would remain in her memory forever.

"_O quam cito transit gloria mundi,"_ she murmured, only to be distracted by the arrival of the owl carrying the Daily Prophet. She watched Aberforth pay the owl and unroll the newspaper – and freeze at the front page picture before turning to her. "You think it had somethin' to do wit' this, Min?"

Her eloquent shrug was an answer in itself and Aberforth nodded, mumbling, "I always said he was daft … too brilliant for his own good, always wantin' to change the world for the better. Always thought he was getting too big for his britches … Headmaster, Supreme Mugwump, Chief Warlock … wouldna be surprised if'n he thought o' himself as Emperor o' the World … playin' people like chess pieces, always thinkin' he knew what was best for all …"

McGonagall nodded, even as she tuned out the other man's mumblings – as she had learned to do over the years. She'd tuned out Aberforth for years, unwilling, like everyone else, to listen to a word against 'great man, Dumbledore'…

She forced the guilt away, focusing on what needed to be done. She'd have to tell Filius, she thought. The Charms Master will have to ward off the room – either that, or move the portrait somewhere else where a gawking public would be unable to ogle the fallen 'leader' in his second childhood … they'd have to close off the passage, anyway, since it was a security breach for the school …

Quietly, she bade goodbye to the still-mumbling Aberforth, silently placing a couple of galleons on the bar before walking out. It would be easier and faster to go through the passage upstairs to the Room of Requirement, but she could not bear to go through that sadly depressing room now.

Outside the pub, Minerva McGonagall took a breath of the crisp, clean air and, with a heavy sigh, headed off for the castle in the distance.

There was work to be done …

**Arithmancy Classroom, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (9:00 A.M.)**

The silence was oppressive.

Mr and Mrs Granger, being the only Muggles in the room, could find no words to describe the atmosphere they found themselves in. The air in the room seemed fetid: dense, malodourous, as if they were stuck in the middle of a jungle, the trees and foliage blocking out both light and air, darkness pressing in from all sides, with pain and despair as constant companions.

But a glance outside the window showed the opposite – the sun shone bright, the colours of approaching summer vivid in their intensity with a backdrop of deep blues because of a cloudless sky … a clever illusion, one would think, a brilliant picture on the wall designed to ramp up the desolation inside the room, teasing one's senses with thoughts of what should be while pressing down with the reality of what is …

The magicals in the room wondered if this was what Azkaban felt like: every bit of happiness and warmth sucked out by the witch and wizard at the window.

Harry Potter stood there, at the demarcation of sunlight and darkness; Hermione glued to his back, her arms around him, chin on his shoulder, glazed, teary eyes staring at nothing, both pouring out enough negative energy to absorb a few dozen cheering charms without even smiling.

'Hell of a thing to serve the kids before breakfast,' Dan Granger thought to himself as he glanced at the others: a scarred Bill with Fleur, haggard faces bearing the pain of explaining Arthur's treachery; a devastated Molly with her head down in shame; Susan Bones and Ginny with thousand-yard stares in a corner; a gaunt-faced Remus with Tonks on his lap, the Metamorph's greyish skin and mousy hair showing none of the outrageous colours so evident during last night's celebrations.

Dan understood why Bill wanted Harry and Hermione to know as soon as possible – the rumours of Arthur losing his magic would soon be spreading followed by speculation on _why_ it happened. Coming on the heels of yesterday's Prophet and last night's revelations, it was only a short leap to the conclusion that Arthur engineered Ron and Hermione's 'wedding' and his condition was magic's way of lashing out at his interference …

Ironic, he thought. While the two events were not related in anyway, the effects were the same: Arthur was paying the price for interfering in the magical bonds of Harry and Ginny, condemning both to lives of misery and jeopardizing Hermione's own happiness in the bargain …

"Harry?" Bill's tentative voice was met by silence. The eldest Weasley son braced himself and tried again. "Lord Potter … on behalf of Clan Weasley, I wish to extend my heartfelt apologies for the sins visited upon you …"

"Bill, please." Bill stopped and stared at his feet, looking up only when he realized that Harry and Hermione were standing in front of him, hands at their sides, tear-streaked faces seemingly looking at him but actually staring beyond him. "There's nothing to apologize for. Whatever Mr Weasley – Arthur – may have done, it does not and could not change what you, as a family, meant to me…"

Harry's words were cut off by the sight and sound of Remus Lupin jumping with a most girlish scream, dumping his wife on the floor even as he was beating at his groin. It was so incongruous that their combat-honed reflexes failed them – they could only stand there gaping at the madly gyrating wizard. Before instincts could kick in, Tonks was on her feet with hands held high – two fingers of one hand holding her wand which was vibrating silently but energetically.

It took them a moment to realize that, given the way she was sitting on Remus' lap, the wand must have been directly over Remus' groin – and they started snickering at the sight of the older wizard, hand on chest as he breathed rapidly, glaring at his wife who was also snickering at him.

"It's an alarm," Tonks said before anyone could ask. "It's little Teddy's feeding time and I gotta go."

She turned to the two at the window and bit her lip – what had happened may not be high comedy or slapstick, it may have been totally unexpected and unintended … but it seemed as if they'd barely made a scratch on the sombre and serious faces of Harry and Hermione.

She opened her mouth to say something: to apologize for leaving, to say sorry for interrupting Harry's dramatic moment – and felt her mischievous nature and innate magic take over. She blinked when she saw her chest sporting an impressive pair of 44DDs with thumb-sized nipples about to pop through the cloth, and felt her derriere expanding to compensate for the added weight in front.

Tonks grinned at the wide-eyed Harry and the slack-jawed Hermione, "What can I say? Teddy's a growing boy, he needs all the milk he can get … as does Remus."

They could only gape as the now-fluorescent haired Auror flounced to the door, front and back jiggling and shaking. No one moved or possibly even breathed – the banging of the door did nothing to break the awed silence.

Only for Susan's shrill voice to snap them out of their stupor: "Ginevra Molly Weasley! You pull your tongue back into your mouth or it's the couch for you!"

A single heartbeat – and they were on the floor or leaning into each other, grabbing chairs in an effort to stand straight, as a tidal wave of laughter threatened to blow the door away from its vibrations.

**The Headmistress' Office, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (9:15 AM.)**

"Absent companions."

McGonagall's rough voice echoed in the room as she raised her glass of single malt; the others silently copied her actions and sent the golden liquid down their throats. The aged Scotch warmed stomachs and chests rendered cold by Poppy's report and they all felt just that little bit better and possibly … _possibly_ better able to deal with the horrendous news.

The Headmistress sighed softly. She shouldn't be doing this, she knew – what sort of example was she setting for the school, the faculty and students? Dumbledore was famous for his lemon drops – will McGonagall be renowned for her bottle of single-malt, in the same way that Sybill was known for her incense-filled classroom and ever-present bottle of cooking sherry?

'Who cares,' she thought to herself as she raised the straw-covered bottle in a silent query. She _needed_ this – not even the Marauders in their day or the Weasley Twins in theirs had driven her to this level of drinking!

The Ministers of Magic for Britain and Australia (Kingsley Shacklebolt and Samantha Wallace) extended their empty glasses for a refill. Minerva bit her lip at the sight – she'd been too distraught from Abeforth's morning floo and her discovery at the Hog's Head to remember that she'd invited the two political leaders to join her for breakfast.

They were walking the grounds when she came back from Hogsmeade and had been about to lead her guests to the great hall when a distraught Poppy Pomfrey, with a shaky Filius trailing along, found her. The news about Arthur had rocked them to their cores – prompting this meeting in her office.

Kingsley Shacklebolt and Samantha Wallace extended their empty glasses for a refill; Filius Flitwick and Poppy Pomfrey covered theirs as they shook their heads. A soft trill from the perch which once housed Fawkes made them blink – except for the Australian Minister for Magic: "Not for you, Ana, you know the rules. Don't drink and drive."

A raspberry sounded from the blue and gold phoenix on the perch; Minister Wallace rolled her eyes and turned back to the others: "There's no doubt, then? Mr Weasley had lost his magic?"

A clearly depressed Poppy Pomfrey nodded; a second's thought and she extended her glass for a refill. She hated the report she just gave – unless the Healers at St Mungo's or the Unspeakables the Minister promised to call in for consultations came up with something, Arthur would effectively be a muggle for the rest of his life.

"HOW?"

The harsh voice of Samantha Wallace, former Auror, current Minister for Magic of Australia, made Poppy flinch. She understood, though – if this was some kind of spell that Voldemort or his still at-large forces knew, none of them were safe. Her frustrated response froze in her throat at the soft, coincident murmuring of Shacklebolt and Minerva: "Magic."

The head of British magical government and the head of its premiere magical school blinked and stared at the other; their thoughts were interrupted by the cold voice of the Australian Minister: "This is not the time for factitious jokes –"

"Who said they're joking?" The gravelly voice of the Sorting Hat caused heads – both living and painted – to swivel in its direction. Unperturbed, the hat continued, "It would explain why our dearly departed Headmaster" – there was no mistaking the biting sarcasm in its voice – "appears to have _truly_ departed."

Eyes blinked, heads turned and mouths gaped as they stared at the frame where Dumbledore once sat, regally twinkling at them, now eerily empty. It had been repaired from the fury unleashed by McGonagall the day before: the blackened and torn canvas and the hole gouged behind it were gone – but it now stood there pristine and unoccupied.

Even Dumbledore's 'throne' was gone.

Flitwick was on his feet, wand out and flicking rapidly; seconds later a shocked Filius murmured, "There's not a trace of magic … nothing at all …"

"I know."

Heads swivelled back to a visibly aged McGonagall who was running her fingers through her hair, seemingly trying to remove a pesky bug from it even as she stared at her half-filled glass, clearly tempted to slug it down – or perhaps, drink straight from the bottle.

"Mum?" Samantha McGonagall-Wallace's voice was soft and frightened – this was magic on a scale she found difficult to comprehend. She knew that it was the castle's magic that created the paintings in this room – how was lost to the ages, only that it was magic that no one living could comprehend or replicate.

If something – or some_one_ – could override Hogwarts' own magic …

"Does this have anything to do with the Potters' bond?"

Heads whipped around, staring at a contemplative Charms Master who was still gazing at the empty portrait as he continued, "It stands to reason, doesn't it? After what we learned yesterday about Albus … The Book of Souls is an ancient, immensely magical artefact … the warning it gives about interfering with soul bonds …"

There was no need to continue. They all knew the legends – they had grown up in the magical world where such tales were meant to teach a lesson: never mess with magic. Old wives' tales they may be but none in the room would have dared test the consequences …

But could someone be arrogant enough to believe he was above the law?

There was no need to answer. All of them – even Minister Wallace – had followed the missing mage blindly for years, whether at Hogwarts, the Wizengamot or the International Confederation of Wizards, all of which he'd led … trusting that he knew what was best, believing in his power and inherent goodness. Perhaps their faith had gone to his head … perhaps the weight of responsibilities had cracked that brilliant mind …

Perhaps they'd been too blinded by his 'light' to see the fractures in his soul …

Poppy broke their silent ruminations: "But what about Arthur? Surely he didn't …"

"He did," Shacklebolt's deep voice, surprising in its gentleness, broke in. The others stared at him and he shook his head as if trying to clear it of cobwebs.

"Nothing leaves this room," he said in an authoritative voice, glaring until the others (including the paintings) voiced their agreement. "Bill Weasley approached me last night, requesting an emergency visa and priority transport for one of Fleur's relatives, a Mind Healer from America …"

He sighed and took a sip from his glass. "Had to explain why, of course …" His voice turned wooden as he succinctly relayed Bill's tale to an open-mouthed audience. As he ended, he silently held out his glass, and a shaking McGonagall poured more Scotch into it.

"Ginny and Harry …" McGonagall whispered, "… Arthur _potioned _them?"

Her disbelief was mirrored by Poppy and Filius – as well as the portrait of Severus Snape. Teachers they may be but they were still human – gossip, especially the romantic entanglements of those under their charge, was intrinsic.

They knew that Ginny and Harry were a couple late in the latter's sixth year, just before Dumbledore's death … Minerva, Flitwick and Poppy were chagrined to learn of it, all three having bets on Harry and Hermione realizing their feelings before they graduated … Snape, on the other hand, was gleeful – not that Potter had found love but that the other three had been so wrong …

Or so it seemed.

As they sat and pondered, an insidious thought woke in their minds and they stared at each other, none willing to verbalize the thought. That Susan and Ginny were together was of little consequence – same sex relationships, while frowned upon, was accepted. Magicals knew better than muggles not to interfere with affairs of the heart – but then again, there were always the delusional few who gave it a go, Merope Gaunt and her infatuation with the squire's son being a prime example of that.

But Arthur's reasons for interfering … it sounded too much like something Albus often spouted and obviously deeply believed: "The Greater Good" in capital letters … was Arthur's attitude something _he_ believed in deeply – or something that Albus, master of mind magics and other things, 'handled' because it fit in with his vision of 'the greater good'?

Unconsciously, their eyes flicked to the now-empty portrait, wondering what secrets it held and lost. All of them – except Minerva - wondered if the essence and memories that should be there were now hiding somewhere else, a painting in the castle … his Chocolate Frog cards … somewhere?

"Arthur will have to leave the Ministry," Shacklebolt's voice broke them from their thoughts. The others shook their heads – of course, they realized. Arthur was now a muggle, unless some miracle could be found … but they found a little bit of solace in Shacklebolt's emphasis on the word 'Ministry'.

At least he would not be leaving their world; muggle or not, Arthur was still a friend …

"He would probably enjoy it – being a muggle, I mean," Severus Snape's portrait said. The others glared at him for a moment only to shake their heads. There was no sarcasm in the words – it was a statement of fact, and those who knew Arthur's fascination with muggles felt themselves grinning slightly at the thought.

"You can always hire him to teach Muggle Studies, Minerva," Flitwick murmured softly. McGonagall slowly nodded, only to glare at Snape's sarcastic snort.

The present and former Heads of the castle locked eyes before Minerva, to the surprise of the others, broke first and turned to pour herself another Scotch. The others frowned, glancing at the smirking Snape from the corners of their eyes, wondering how the bastard could be so heartless …

What they didn't know was that Snape had been after McGonagall and Albus to teach Muggle Studies. Not Defence Against the Dark Arts (as legend had it) or even Potions, where he'd attained his Mastery at a young age.

Muggle Studies.

Minerva shook her head at the memory of a disgusted thirteen-year old boy walking out of Muggle Studies (in much the same way that Miss Granger had walked out of Divination), loudly comparing the teacher knew _nothing_ about muggles … he should know, McGonagall thought. He'd grown up on the edges of that world and had been best friends with the brightest witch of her day who also grew up in that world …

Potions may have been his passion but Muggle Studies was to be his atonement for the way he'd treated his former best friend. Teaching wizards about the muggle world (and the muggle-born and raised about the magical world) was to be his penance for the sins committed against Lily Evans, his best friend and unrequited love … but no, oh no …

Dumbledore, with his far-reaching plans and infinite wisdom, denied him the posting. A Death Eater and Head of Slytherin teaching _Muggle Studies? _ Voldemort would have AK'd Snape the moment he came back – and where would Albus have found another spy in the enemy's camp?

McGonagall shook her head. As always, she'd bowed to Dumbledore. Severus was to teach Potions rather than Muggle Studies, despite the man's ranting; eventually the Deputy Headmistress chose to ignore Snape's continued bitching until he finally gave up … she wondered if _that_ was another reason behind the man's seething anger which he took out on the students, especially the Gryffindors where both she and Albus had come from …

She took a sip of her Scotch as she forced the thought away – too late for recriminations. She could spend the rest of her lifetime thinking about all the 'what if's' in her life … although she promised that the first thing she'll do on her next great adventure would be to find and transfigure that senile fool into a ball so she could kick it through eternity …

And stopped as another thought made its way through the alcoholic haze: "If Arthur and … probably Albus … have been affected because they tried to interfere in Harry's bond …"

"Yes?" Minister Shacklebolt said slowly, eyeing her warily.

"Then … what about the Malfoys?"

For a long moment, no sound could be heard … until Phineas Nigellus Black's portrait coughed: "Uh oh …"

**The Dining Room, Malfoy Manor (9:30 AM)**

It was a silent family at the breakfast table in Malfoy Manor – a meal that was at the extreme end of what the haughty, pureblood aristocrats were used to: loaves of bread both sliced and whole, bowls of lettuce, tomatoes and onions, neatly sliced (but uncooked) ham, a pot of butter, jars of mustard, mayonnaise and pickles, cruets of olive oil and balsamic vinegar, the ubiquitous salt and pepper shakers …

In their minds, it was a meal fit only for a Weasley.

Not that any of them thought of it.

Lucius, as was custom, sat at the head of table – hair a mess, bloodshot eyes, staring vacantly at nothing as he clutched a nearly empty bottle of cognac. On his left sat Draco looking remarkably like his father: unkempt hair, reddened eyes, thousand-mile stare as he continually flicked his wand, trying in vain to coax something, _anything_ out of it.

He may as well have been a muggle conductor trying to lead a discordant orchestra for all the good it was doing him.

It was only Narcissa who looked every inch the pureblood aristocrat she was: perfectly coiffed hair, bejewelled ears, neck and wrists, pursed lips and flaring nostrils – looking as if there was something rotten beneath her aquiline nose. Her ice-blue eyes, however, were close to that of her husband and son – unblinking, seemingly staring at nothing except for the banked fires behind them as she ruthlessly pushed down the urge to scream in frustration.

This morning was, without doubt, the most horrific of her life.

**FLASHBACK**

Waking up only to catch sight of that tiny, limp, INSIGNIFICANT _thing_ was only the first shock – the thought that she now knew how Hermione Granger would feel at seeing Ronald Weasley's negligible 'assets' almost made her throw up.

Grabbing her wand and waving it around, only for a shocking realization to blast through her mind as she screamed: she could feel NO connection to her cherished wand.

Seeing her husband doing the same as he cursed, screamed and wailed while accomplishing nothing was the next blow – quickly followed by the sight of his wand hand with only his wedding band glinting in the sunlight.

His Head of House ring was missing.

It took some time before she could make the fact known to Lucius – and even more minutes for the shaking wizard (or _ex-_wizard) to get his brain in gear and do something about it.

"Draco," he whispered – and both were in a mad dash for their son's bedroom, bursting in without a knock or a by your leave, catching Draco with his pants literally around his ankles, fist wrapped around his bits …

He'd gawked, frozen in the middle of wanking – only to cringe as Lucius roared, "SHOW ME YOUR HANDS!" Draco could only stare, yelping as Lucius roughly grabbed his hands and pulled him up, forcing him to stand on his bed as Lucius shook his wrists, forcing him to splay his fingers –

His _bare_ fingers, devoid of any jewellery.

"WHERE'S MY RING, YOU FOOL?"

"What ring?"

Draco's clueless response struck Lucius dumb – he could only stand there. Draco's frightened eyes turned to his mother who was staring, glassy-eyed, at his groin which kick-started his brain and he cringed, hands trying to cover himself only for Narcissa to grab his hands and pull them away …

Revealing his baby-sized penis, looking like it had a bad case of diaper rash or over-exposure to the noonday sun –

"What happened to you?" was the ear-rending shriek from his mother. Draco looked helplessly at his father … only to gape as he realized that his father, his _naked_ father, was displaying almost the same equipment as he had: slightly thicker, perhaps; slightly longer, _perhaps_ but no different really than his own: teeny, miniscule, INSIGNIFICANT …

Father and son stared at each other … and simultaneously felt their eyes rolling, before they collapsed in a dead faint as the still-naked Narcissa glared, eyes shifting from her son's diminutive penis to her husband's only slightly larger one, before she charged out the room and sped to the sitting room where she threw floo powder into the fireplace, stuck her head in as she screamed, "ST. MUNGO'S!"

Before she could let go another cry for help, she felt something hitting her naked bum – and banged her head on the fireplace even as she spun around to scream at whoever it was who'd had the _nerve_ – only to blink at the delivery owl perched on a chair, one leg with its bag for payment extended at her.

Pulling her head out the floo broke the connection; as she turned to scream at the owl, she caught a glimpse of the paper on the floor and let loose a screeching wail that sent the poor owl speeding away without waiting for payment …

Narcissa Black-Malfoy wailed as she stared at the huge front page picture of Harry Potter and Hermione Granger kissing in the Great Hall of Hogwarts, surrounded by a golden dome even as everyone around them cringed from the brightness of the light, above the single-word, six-inch, all-caps headline: "SOULMATES!**"**

**END FLASHBACK**

It took every ounce of Narcissa's considerable willpower to stop from shivering as the memories played through her mind, her hands mechanically preparing a sandwich as her brain continued to spin, seeking a way out of their predicament.

She ruthlessly kept her hands away from the unopened bottle of brandy before her, keeping her mouth from sneering at the male Malfoys across her. '_Croissants_,' she thought, 'beautiful and appetizing on the outside, hollow on the inside. The slightest pressure and they collapse like paper bags filled with air."

She stopped her hands from shredding the lettuce as she forced her mind back to the matter at hand: what in the nine levels of hell was she going to do?

Correction.

What were _they_ going to do?

The loss of magic was the heart of the matter … from that single irrevocable fact sprung all sorts of complications that her husband, the supreme idiot, had not factored into his 'cunning and ambitious' plan.

Who in Hades would have thought that those two were _soul mates_, of all things?

She shook the thought violently away – useless to ponder that, she knew. The reality was there for all to see – the loss of their magic, combined with what happened to the two males sitting with her was further proof. Magic had claimed its due for their attempt to interfere in the bond … she grimaced and started cursing to herself.

If anything, magic should be _grateful_ to them for pushing those two _bobabilicons_ together, she raged silently. Harry and Hermione _Potter-Black_ (oh, how she _hated_ seeing that name in the Prophet) should be giving **THANKS TO THE MALFOYS** for getting them off their arses and getting hitched!

She shook that train of thought off, knowing that it would only be a circular argument – like a kneazle chasing its tail, ending nowhere until she dropped from exhaustion.

Back to her – _their_ – problem.

Magic was the core of their existence. It _defined_ them, gave them their _identity_, their _position_ in society and in life. Without magic, they were nothing more than muggles and – in the circles where they'd lived and moved – _that_ was worse than being a mere squib.

Much, much worse.

Without magic, neither Lucius or Draco could _head _the Noble House of Malfoy – the disappearance of the ancestral ring confirmed it.

Which meant no access to the Malfoy vaults.

Not that it meant that much now … her intellectually-challenged and strategy-impaired husband had depleted their fortune, such that his reckless scheme to gain control of the Family Black and its vaults seemed, at first, second and even fifth glance, the only game in town.

For it to backfire so spectacularly … she shuddered.

At the same time, the loss of both magic and the Head of House ring meant that access to this house, the seat of the Noble House of Malfoy, was only a matter of time. It was just plain luck, she thought, that Voldemort's presence here during the year had torn down some of the old wards … otherwise, they'd be out on the street with no shelter, no clothes, no money – and no fucking _future! _The line of inbred _fools_ who'd lived here for decades didn't want 'filthy muggles' contaminating their refined air … the only place muggles could 'live' here was in the dungeons.

She fought down the shakes that grabbed her – there was no way she was going to stay down there among the filth, dried blood and rats. Worse – she knew that the wards were recharging … give it a week at most and they'd be out on the street.

And _that_ brought another problem to the fore.

Where the _hell_ were they going to go? Without magic, they were no better off than muggles – and their 'friends' had made a career, a hobby, an _avocation_ of hating muggles.

Sure, she thought, they could make a claim that the Dark Lord had taken his revenge on them for turning on him during the last battle … claim to all and sundry that Voldemort had stolen their magic in a fit of pique for showing that they were truly of 'the Light' … they'd get a few seconds of token sympathy before the ravening hordes tore them limb from limb.

There would be no one to protect them – for years the name Malfoy struck fear in the hearts of the unwashed masses but that was only because of their fear for the name, for their magic and wealth … all of which was now gone.

Magical Britain would fall on them like wolves. The French Malfois were not an option – they fully subscribed to Lucius' narrow-minded views and would see them as fingerlings to be devoured and spat out.

She snorted at the thought of throwing herself at the mercy of the Head of House Black, Harry Potter-Black. Sure, she'd 'helped' him fool the Dork Lord Voldemort into believing him dead – but how far would _that_ go with the Mudblood Granger at his side? After what Granger had gone through _in this very house,_ she somehow doubted that the girl would be magnanimous in victory.

Generous in taking revenge, maybe. Potter's better instincts – what Draco had laughingly called Potty's weaknesses – might give her a chance but it wouldn't extend to her offspring and spouse, of that she was sure.

Enough, she thought. Britain was out – magical or muggle, their 'condition' made that a risky proposition at best. The Continent was out as well – same conditions apply.

Elsewhere … She paused, eyes narrowed as her brain finally quit its cycle of despair and synapses started firing smoothly once again.

**A/N. **One more chappie to go, and it's a wrap. Hopefully, won't take long!


End file.
